'Wave upon wave! as if a foaming ocean, By boisterous winds to fierce rebellion driven, Heard, in its wildest moment of commotion, And stood congealed at the command of heaven! Its frantic billows chained at their explosion, And fixed in sculpture! here to caverns riven-- There, petrified to crystal--at His nod Who raised the Alps an altar to their GOD.' When you reflect that this sea is eighteen miles long, and that the waves rise in abrupt ridges ten, twenty, and even forty feet, frozen to extreme solidity, with chasms between, some of which have been found to be three hundred and fifty feet deep, you will believe the poet has not exaggerated its appearance. It is surrounded by high mountains of dark-colored rock, which taper off in fantastic and beautiful cones; and altogether, it is a scene of striking and awful magnificence, which must leave an abiding impression on every visitor. The ice in the chasms is very clear, and of a beautiful vitriol tint. It is remarkable that this great natural curiosity was first made known to the world in 1741, by two adventurous English travellers, Windham and Pococke. Its origin, of course, remains a fearful mystery. At the little hut on Mont Anvert, I obtained of the guides some specimens of minerals, fine stones, and a _chamois cane_. By the way, you will excuse me perhaps, for copying these 'Lines on liberating a Chamois:'[6] 'Free-born and beautiful! The mountain Has naught like thee! Fleet as the rush of Alpine fountain-- Fearless and free! Thy dazzling eye outshines in brightness The beam of Hope; Thine airy bound outstrips the lightness Of antelope. 'On cliffs, where scarce the eagle's pinion Can find repose, Thou keep'st thy desolate dominion Of trackless snows! Thy pride to roam, where man's ambition Could never climb, And make thy world a dazzling vision Of Alps sublime! 'How glorious are the dawns that wake thee To thy repast! And where their fading lights forsake thee, They shine the last. Thy clime is pure--thy heaven clearer, Brighter than ours; To thee, the desert snows are dearer Than summer flowers.'