When we parted with you at Geneve,
The road was enchantingly various;
We began for to laugh in our sleeve,
When they talked of the things that would scare us.
The Arve it flowed winding along
Cultured vales, as we viewed them askance;
Enraptured we chatted and sung,
Till arived at the town of Sallenche.
Ah me, then our troubles began,
For our carriage no further could go,
So we stuffed in a vile charabanc,
Be-jerked from our top to our toe.
O, Gemini me! what a squalling,
As along the rough muleteer banged us; —
" O, hold fast, be sure" — each kept bawling,
As through the wild torrents he twanged us.
" Look here! and see there!" — cried each one,
As over such steeps we were twitched;
But I vow in the midst of the fun,
I thought our mule-driver bewitched!
Such twistings and jerkings there were,
Predetermined to heartily bump us,
Zig-zag, like a dog in a fair,
To all the four points of the compass.
However, to shorten my story,
In very few words may be said,
When you get to the vale of Chamouny,
All your twitches and jerks are repaid.
For though many a vale we had passed,
And o'er mountains, whose heads were gigantic,
Yet this vale of all vales, at the last,
Was beyond every thing most romantic.
I wished for a genius of fire,
I wished for a thousand of quills,
Of paper far more than a quire,
To sketch out each beauty it fills.
For though I no genius was born,
From such wishes I am not exempt;
Your pen would the subject adorn:
You might soar, — but I must not attempt.
From this vale you ascend the Glaciers;
On our ten toes we braved the fatigues;
That day laid aside female fears,
And trudged there and back full eight leagues.
O, such puffing, and breathing, and blowing,
Some languishing, faint, half-expiring!
Some danced, others sung, as a-going,
Melting airs! — for we all were perspiring.
The guides they stumped first, looking big,
With a prong, we each one scrambled after;
Though they all talked of dancing a jig,
I protest I was far off from laughter.
Curiosity nudged me in vain,
For slipping I looked to my feet;
Though expiring, I durst not complain,
But with ecstasy cried — " Lord, how sweet!"
Such chasms there yawned on the plain,
As fearful I peeped o'er the rocks,
Ay, if ever you catch me again,
I deserve to be clutched in your stocks.
Then sliding and trembling again,
Each wonder fresh frights on us heaping,
Each silently grunting through pain,
Though forewarned, we must all pay for peeping.
Arrived at the Maison de Blair,
A hut that is not over-nice,
Yet pleased, although homely the fare,
Then went on to the ocean of ice.
If to wonder it makes you look old,
Such wonder of wonders are in it,
Muse but how those billows are rolled,
You'd be ninety years old in a minute.
Suppose the sea heaving and swelling,
Arrested in act of that motion,
With colours the rainbow excelling,
And you'll faintly conceive the Ice Ocean.
The torrents that scare you withal,
The deep fissures that strike ye with wonder,
The immense rocks of ice as they fall,
With reverb'rating noise loud as thunder.
Yet though 'twas enchantingly fine,
Tres superbe, magnifique , the rude murmur,
Still the part I thought nearest divine,
Was when my feet touched terra firma .
Down the mountain we trudged it again,
Each anxious to see the dear valley;
The whole party were hopping through pain,
Like a group of lame ducks in an alley.
But oh, woe on woe, on the plain,
Three good miles had we yet for to go;
We were caught in a deluge of rain,
And besoused from our top to our toe.
The lightning it flashed in our faces,
The hail it bespattered us round;
We all made most direful grimaces,
To hear the hoarse thunder resound.
Had you seen but the droop of our hats,
Not a thread 'mongst us all of dry linen;
Though we looked like a parcel of rats,
'Midst our troubles we could not help grinning.
Arrived at our inn at the last,
Our kind hostess she thought it so handy,
Before any other repast,
To drench us all round with some brandy.
Then in our hot beds we reclined,
Each served with a basin of whey;
Yet withal, 'twas a wonder to find,
We had none of us colds the next day.
The road was enchantingly various;
We began for to laugh in our sleeve,
When they talked of the things that would scare us.
The Arve it flowed winding along
Cultured vales, as we viewed them askance;
Enraptured we chatted and sung,
Till arived at the town of Sallenche.
Ah me, then our troubles began,
For our carriage no further could go,
So we stuffed in a vile charabanc,
Be-jerked from our top to our toe.
O, Gemini me! what a squalling,
As along the rough muleteer banged us; —
" O, hold fast, be sure" — each kept bawling,
As through the wild torrents he twanged us.
" Look here! and see there!" — cried each one,
As over such steeps we were twitched;
But I vow in the midst of the fun,
I thought our mule-driver bewitched!
Such twistings and jerkings there were,
Predetermined to heartily bump us,
Zig-zag, like a dog in a fair,
To all the four points of the compass.
However, to shorten my story,
In very few words may be said,
When you get to the vale of Chamouny,
All your twitches and jerks are repaid.
For though many a vale we had passed,
And o'er mountains, whose heads were gigantic,
Yet this vale of all vales, at the last,
Was beyond every thing most romantic.
I wished for a genius of fire,
I wished for a thousand of quills,
Of paper far more than a quire,
To sketch out each beauty it fills.
For though I no genius was born,
From such wishes I am not exempt;
Your pen would the subject adorn:
You might soar, — but I must not attempt.
From this vale you ascend the Glaciers;
On our ten toes we braved the fatigues;
That day laid aside female fears,
And trudged there and back full eight leagues.
O, such puffing, and breathing, and blowing,
Some languishing, faint, half-expiring!
Some danced, others sung, as a-going,
Melting airs! — for we all were perspiring.
The guides they stumped first, looking big,
With a prong, we each one scrambled after;
Though they all talked of dancing a jig,
I protest I was far off from laughter.
Curiosity nudged me in vain,
For slipping I looked to my feet;
Though expiring, I durst not complain,
But with ecstasy cried — " Lord, how sweet!"
Such chasms there yawned on the plain,
As fearful I peeped o'er the rocks,
Ay, if ever you catch me again,
I deserve to be clutched in your stocks.
Then sliding and trembling again,
Each wonder fresh frights on us heaping,
Each silently grunting through pain,
Though forewarned, we must all pay for peeping.
Arrived at the Maison de Blair,
A hut that is not over-nice,
Yet pleased, although homely the fare,
Then went on to the ocean of ice.
If to wonder it makes you look old,
Such wonder of wonders are in it,
Muse but how those billows are rolled,
You'd be ninety years old in a minute.
Suppose the sea heaving and swelling,
Arrested in act of that motion,
With colours the rainbow excelling,
And you'll faintly conceive the Ice Ocean.
The torrents that scare you withal,
The deep fissures that strike ye with wonder,
The immense rocks of ice as they fall,
With reverb'rating noise loud as thunder.
Yet though 'twas enchantingly fine,
Tres superbe, magnifique , the rude murmur,
Still the part I thought nearest divine,
Was when my feet touched terra firma .
Down the mountain we trudged it again,
Each anxious to see the dear valley;
The whole party were hopping through pain,
Like a group of lame ducks in an alley.
But oh, woe on woe, on the plain,
Three good miles had we yet for to go;
We were caught in a deluge of rain,
And besoused from our top to our toe.
The lightning it flashed in our faces,
The hail it bespattered us round;
We all made most direful grimaces,
To hear the hoarse thunder resound.
Had you seen but the droop of our hats,
Not a thread 'mongst us all of dry linen;
Though we looked like a parcel of rats,
'Midst our troubles we could not help grinning.
Arrived at our inn at the last,
Our kind hostess she thought it so handy,
Before any other repast,
To drench us all round with some brandy.
Then in our hot beds we reclined,
Each served with a basin of whey;
Yet withal, 'twas a wonder to find,
We had none of us colds the next day.