Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 3, July, 1851Various
History
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 3, July, 1851
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
The entrance to Trömsdal was a rough, wild tract of low ground, clothed
with coarse wild grasses and dwarf underwood. There were many wild
flowers, but none of notable beauty, the most abundant being the white
flower of that delicious berry the _moltebær_. The dale itself runs
with a gentle but immense curve, between lofty ranges of rock, which
swell upward with regularity. The bed of this dale, or ravine, is from
one quarter to three quarters of a mile across, and the centre was one
picturesque mass of underwood and bosky clumps. All shrubs, however,
dwindled away up the mountains' sides, and the vegetation grew scantier
the higher one looked, until, at an altitude of not more than one
hundred yards above the level of the sea, the snow lay in considerable
masses. Overhead hung a summer Italian sky! Looking backward, the
entrance to Trömsdal seemed blocked up by towering snow-clad mountains;
and, looking forward, there was a long green vista between walls of
snow, closed at the extremity by huge fantastic rocks, nodding with
accumulated loads of the same material. Down the gray rocks on each
hand, countless little torrents were leaping. They crossed the bottom of
the ravine every few yards, and all of them hurried to blend with
Trömsdal Elv--"the river of Trömsdal"--which runs through the dale, and
falls into the sea at its entrance.
I had probably wandered four or five English miles down this noble dale,
when a wild but mellow shout or halloa floated on the crisp, sunny
breeze from the opposite side. I listened eagerly for its repetition,
and soon it was repeated, more distinctly and more musically, and then I
felt sure that it was the call of a Lap to the herd of reins. I paused,
glanced keenly between the intercepting branches, and lo! there they
were, of all sizes, by twos and threes, and dozens and scores. There
they were, "native burghers of this desert city," denizens of the wilds,
gathering together in one jostling mass of animated life! See their
tossing antlers and glancing sides, as they pass to and fro among the
green underwood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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