Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Landscape
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and it must contract again to a narrow strait, and
creep between narrow sandy shores. Then it broadens
out for the third time, but not with its former
beauty and majesty. Its shores are lower and more
monotonous, wilder winds blow, the lake goes early
to its winter sleep. It is still beautiful, but it has lost
the strength of its youth and manhood—it is a lake
like any other. It throws out two arms to feel its
way to the Vänern, and when it finds it, casts itself
in aged weakness down the steep slope, and, after
this last thundering exploit, sinks to rest.
A plain follows the course of the Löfven, but it
has a hard fight to hold its own between the lake
and the hills, from the cauldron-like valley, which
is the lake’s most northerly point, to the Vänern
lowlands, where it finally gains the mastery, and
spreads itself wide in indolent ease. The plain would
have unquestionably preferred to follow the lake
shores, but the hills give it no peace.
These hills are mighty granite walls, covered
with forest, full of chasms, abounding in moss and
lichen, difficult to penetrate into, and, in the days
we are speaking of, the home of numberless wild
beasts. There is many a tarn of inky black water
and many a quagmire in those long, far-reaching
ridges. Here and there you find a coal mine, or an
opening in the forest where the timber has been
felled; now and again a burned clearing, which
shows that the hills allow of a little cultivation; but
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