“Before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent (seven in the morning) again; the sun upon it, forming a rainbow of the lower part of all colours, but principally purple and gold; the bow moving as you move; I never saw anything like this:  it is only in the sunshine.  Ascended the Wengen mountain; at noon reached a valley on the summit; left the horses, took off my coat, and went to the summit, seven thousand feet (English feet) above the level of the sea, and about five thousand above the valley we left in the morning.  On one side, our view comprised the Jungfrau, with all her glaciers; then the Dent d’Argent, shining like truth; then the Little Giant (the Kleine Eigher;) and the Great Giant (the Grosse Eigher,) and last, not least, the Wetterhorn.  The height of the Jungfrau is 13,000 feet above the sea, 11,000 above the valley:  she is the highest of this range.  Heard the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly.  From whence we stood, on the Wengen Alp, we had all these in view on one side; on the other, the clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of the ocean of hell, during a spring tide—­it was white and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance.[3] The side we ascended was, of course, not of so precipitous a nature; but on arriving at the summit, we looked down upon the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood (these crags on one side quite perpendicular.) Staid a quarter of an hour—­begun to descend—­quite clear from cloud on that side of the mountain.  In passing the masses of snow, I made a snowball and pelted Hobhouse with it.

[3] Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o’erwhelming, come and crush me!
I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict
* * * * *
The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell!
MANFRED.

[4] O’er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest’s foam
Frozen in a moment. 
MANFRED.

“Got down to our horses again; ate something; remounted; heard the avalanches still:  came to a morass; Hobhouse dismounted to get over well; I tried to pass my horse over; the horse sunk up to the chin, and of course he and I were in the mud together; bemired, but not hurt; laughed, and rode on.  Arrived at the Grindenwald; dined, mounted again, and rode to the higher glacier—­like a frozen hurricane.[4] Starlight, beautiful, but a devil of a path!  Never mind, got safe in; a little lightning, but the whole of the day as fine in point of weather as the day on which Paradise was made.  Passed whole woods of withered pines, all withered; trunks stripped and lifeless, branches lifeless; done by a single winter."[5]