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The Climber's Dream.
by Edward Woodley BowlingI made an ascent of the Eiger
Last year, which has ne'er been surpassed;
'Twas dangerous, long, and laborious,
But almost incredibly fast.
We started at twelve from the Faulberg;
Ascended the Monch by the way;
And were well at the base of our mountain,
As the peak caught the dawn of the day.
In front of me Almer and Perren
Cut steps, each as big as a bucket;
While behind me there followed, as Herren,
George, Stephen, and Freshfield, and Tuckett.
We got to the top without trouble;
There halted, of course, for the view;
When clouds, sailing fast from the southward,
Veiled over the vault of dark blue.
The lightning shone playfully round us;
The thunder ferociously growled;
The hail beat upon us in bullets;
And the wind everlastingly howled.
We turned to descend to the Scheideck,
Eyes blinded, ears deafened, we ran,
In our panic and hurry, forgetting
To add a new stone to the man.
Palinurus himself - that is Almer -
No longer could make out the track;
'Twas folly, no doubt, to go onward;
'Twas madness, of course, to go back.
The snow slope grew steeper and steeper;
The lightning more vividly flared;
The thunder rolled deeper and deeper;
And the wind more offensively blared.
But at last a strong gust for a moment
Dispersed the thick cloud from our sight,
And revealed an astonishing prospect,
Which filled not our hearts with delight:
On our right was a precipice awful;
On the left chasms yawning and deep;
Glazed rocks and snow-slopes were before us,
At an angle alarmingly steep.
We all turned and looked back at Almer.
Who then was the last on the rope;
His face for a moment was clouded,
Then beamed with the dawn of a hope;
He came to the front, and thence forward
In wonderful fashion he led,
Over rocks, over snow-slopes glissading,
While he stood, bolt upright on his head!
We followed, in similar fashion;
Hurrah, what a moment is this!
What a moment of exquisite transport!
A realization of bliss!
To glissade is a pleasant sensation,
Of which all have written, or read;
But to taste it, in perfect perfection,
You should learn to glissade on your head.
Hurrah! with a wild scream of triumph,
Over snow, over boulders we fly,
Our heads firmly pressed to the surface,
Our heels pointing up to the sky!
We bound o'er the bergschrund uninjured,
We shoot o'er a precipice sheer;
Hurrah, for the modern glissader!
Hurrah, for the wild mountaineer!
* * * * *
But, alas! what is this? what a shaking!
What a jar! what a bump! what a thump!
Out of bed, in intense consternation,
I bound with a hop, skip, and jump.
For I hear the sweet voice of a "person"
Of whom I with justice am proud,
"My dear, when you dream about mountains,
I wish you'd not jodel so loud!"