The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual
and short windings, which enable you to surmount the
perpendicularity of the mountain. It is a scene terrifically
desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the winter
[avelanche] <avalanche> may be perceived,
where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground; some entirely
destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of the
mountain, or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you
ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of snow, down which
stones continually roll from above; one of them is particularly
dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking in a
loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw
destruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall
or luxuriant, but they are sombre, and add an air of severity to
the scene. I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were
rising from the rivers which ran through it, and curling in
thick wreaths around the opposite mountains, whose summits were
hid in the uniform clouds, while rain poured from the dark sky,
and added to the melancholy impression I received from the
objects around me. Alas! why does man boast of sensibilities
superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them
more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger,
thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are
moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that
that {MS wind} word may convey to us.
We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason; [laugh, or] <laugh or> weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free.
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but mutability!