Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Landscape
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pass over the hills. You have seen them in the mid-day
light sinking to the horizon, pale blue and low,
and at morning and evening rising in majestic height,
as deep a blue as the zenith of heaven. Sometimes
the light falls so sharply upon them, they look
green or blue-black, and every fir tree, every path
and chasm, shows clearly at a great distance.
Sometimes the hills draw aside and allow the plain
to approach and look at the lake, but when it sees
it in its anger, hissing and spitting like a wild cat,
or sees it covered with cold mist (the water witches
being busy with washing and brewing), it soon
acknowledges that the hills were right, and returns
willingly to its narrow prison.
For many, many generations the plain has been
cultivated, and great things have been done there.
Wherever a stream, in its rapid course, has flung
itself over the sloping shores, mills and foundries
have sprung up. On the light, open places, where
the plain comes down to the lake, churches and
parsonages have been built; and in the corners of
the valleys, half way up the hillsides, on the stony
ground where the corn will not grow, stand the
peasants’ huts and the officers’ buildings and here
and there a gentleman’s mansion.
But it must be remembered that in 1820—30 the
land was not nearly so cultivated nor so populated
as it now is. Much was forest and lake and marsh
which is now reclaimed.
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