In keen pursuit—and gave, where'er she flew,[IQ]
Impetuous motion to the Stars above her.[IR]
A solitary Wolf-dog, ranging on
Through the bleak concave, wakes this wondrous chime
Of aëry voices locked in unison,—
Faint—far-off—near—deep—solemn and sublime!—
So, from the body of one guilty deed,[548]
A thousand ghostly fears, and haunting thoughts, proceed!
They went up the Gemmi Pass from Leukerbad, passed the Dauben See and the Schwarenbach Inn, looked into the valley of Kandersteg, and returned to the baths of Leuk. Mrs. Wordsworth writes:—"Wed., 13th Sept. Baths of Leuk.—... On our right we looked down from an immense height into Gastern Thal, a huge cleft, between the snowy Giants, Altels and Blumlis Alp. The Kandor rises out of this rocky recess, makes a bend at the foot of our high station, and takes a direct course down the valley before us.... We were very loath to return, without measuring the tempting vale through which this river flows. Returned by the same path. On drawing towards the little mountain Inn, the mastiff, hearing our footsteps before we could see him, or hear his voice, raised such a tumult in the mountains as produced the effect of a large pack of well-toned hounds in full cry. It was a grand sound. And this reminds me of the fine echoes called forth by a traveller or his guide in the morning. They were before us, as we clomb the Gemmi. The voice was a universal one; and the prolonged and re-echoed notes could not have been more harmonious had they proceeded from the sweetest instrument."
"Wednesday, 12th September. Baths of Leuk.—The total absence of all sound of living creature was very striking: silent moths in abundance flew about in the sunshine, and the muddy Lake weltered below us; the only sound when we checked our voices to listen. Hence we continued to journey over rocky and barren ground till we suddenly looked down into a warm, green nook, into which we must descend. Twelve cattle were there enclosed by the crags, as in a field of their own choosing. We passed among them, giving no disturbance, and again came upon a tract as barren as before. After about two leagues from the top of the Gemmi crags, the summer Chalet, our promised resting-place, was seen facing us, reared against the stony mountain, and overlooking a desolate round hollow. Winding along the side of the hill (that deep hollow beneath us to the right) a long half-mile brought us to the platform before the door of the hut. It was a scene of wild gaiety. Half-a-score of youthful travellers (military students from the College of Thun) were there regaling themselves. Mr. Robinson became sociable; and we, while the party stood round us talking with him, had our repast spread upon the same table where they had finished theirs. They departed; and we saw them winding away towards the Gemmi on the side of the precipice above the dreary hollow—a long procession, not less interesting than the group at our approach. But every object connected with animated nature (and human life especially) is interesting on such a road as this; we meet no one with a stranger's heart! I cannot forget with what pleasure, soon after leaving the hut, we greeted two young matrons, one with a child in her arms, the other with hers, a lusty babe, ruddy with mountain air, asleep in its wicker cradle on her back. Thus laden they were to descend the Gemmi Rocks, and seemed to think it no hardship, returning us chearful looks while we noticed the happy burthens which they carried. Those peasant travellers out of sight, we go on over the same rocky ground, snowy pikes and craggy eminences still bounding the prospect. But ere long we approach the neighbourhood of trees, and overlooking a long smooth level covered with poor yellowish grass, saw at a distance, in the centre of the level, a group of Travellers of a different kind—a party of gentry, male and female, on mules. On meeting I spoke to the two Ladies in English, by way of trying their nation, and was pleased at being answered in the same tongue. The lawn here was prettily embayed, like a lake, among little eminences covered with dwarf trees, aged or blighted; thence, onward to another open space, where was an encampment of cattle sheds, the large plain spotted with heaps of stones at irregular distances.... The turf was very poor, yet so lavishly overspread with close-growing flowers it reminded us of a Persian Carpet. The silver thistle, as we then named it, had a singularly beautiful effect; a glistering star lying on the ground, as if enwrought upon it. An avalanche had covered the surface with stones many years ago, and many more will it require for nature, aided by the mountaineers' industry, to restore the soil to its former fertility. On approaching the destined termination of our descent, we were led among thickets of Alpine Shrubs, a rich covering of berry-bearing plants over-spreading the ground. We followed the ridge of this wildly beautiful tract, and it brought us to the brink of a precipice. On our right, when we looked into the savage valley of Gastron—upwards toward its head, and downwards to the point where the Gastron joins the Kandor, their united streams thence continuing a tumultuous course to the Lake of Thun. The head of the Kandor Thal was concealed from us, to our left, by the ridge of the hill on which we stood. By going about a mile further along the ridge to the brow of its northern extremity, we might have seen the junction of the two rivers, but were fearful of being overtaken by darkness in descending the Gemmi, and were, indeed, satisfied with the prospect already gained. The river Gastron winds in tumult over a stony channel, through the apparently level area of a grassless Vale, buried beneath stupendous mountains—not a house or hut to be seen. A roaring sound ascended to us on the eminence so high above the Vale. How awful the tumult when the River carries along with it the spring tide of melted snow! We had long viewed in our journey a snow-covered pike, in stateliness and height surpassing all the other eminences. The whole mass of the mountain now appeared before us, on the same side of the Gastron vale on which we were. It seemed very near to us, and as if a part of its base rose from that vale. We could hardly believe our Guide when he told us that pike was one of the summits of the Jungfrau, took out maps and books, and found it could be no other mountain. I never before had a conception of the space covered by the bases of these enormous piles. After lingering as long as time would allow, we began to remeasure our steps, thankful for the privilege of again feeling ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Jungfrau, and of looking upon those heights that border the Lake of Thun, at the feet of which we had first entered among the inner windings of Switzerland. Our journey back to the Chalet was not less pleasant than in the earlier part of the day. The Guide, hurrying on before us, roused the large house-dog to give us a welcoming bark, which echoed round the mountains like the tunable voices of a full pack of hounds—a heart-stirring concert in that silent place where no waters were heard at that time—no tinkling of cattle-bells; indeed, the barren soil offers small temptation for wandering cattle to linger there. In a few weeks our rugged path would be closed up with snow, the hut untenanted for the winter, and not a living creature left to rouse the echoes—echoes which our Bard would not suffer to die with us." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.