We Sprang Up, Groping And Dressing In The Dark, And
Went Out In The Frosty Air.
Ascending the ridge we looked off upon a
sleeping world.
Mists lay beneath like waves, clouds, like a sea. On
one side the Oberland Alps stretched along the horizon their pale,
blue-white peaks. Other mountains, indistinct in color and outline,
chained round the whole horizon. Yes, "the sleeping rocks did dream"
all over the wide expanse, as they slumbered on their cloudy pillow,
and their dream was of the coming dawn. Twelve lakes, leaden pale or
steel blue, dreamed also under canopies of cloud, and the solid land
dreamed, and all her wilds and forests. And in the silence of the
dream already the tinge of clairvoyance lit the gray east; a dim,
diffuse aurora, while yet the long, low clouds hung lustreless above;
nor could the eye prophesy where should open the door in heaven. At
length, a flush, as of shame or joy, presaged the pathway. Tongues of
many-colored light vibrated beneath the strata of clouds, now dappled,
mottled, streaked with fire; those on either hand of a light, flaky,
salmon tint, those in the path and portal of the dawn of a gorgeous
blending and blazoning of golden glories. The mists all abroad stirred
uneasily. Tufts of feathery down came up out of the mass. Soft,
floating films lifted from the surface and streamed away dissolving.
Strange hues came out on lake and shore, far, far below. The air, the
very air became conscious of a coming change, and the pale tops of
distant Alps sparkled like diamonds.
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