Out of a veil of palpitating mist there arose before me in my sleep
the image of a colossal and precipitous cliff; standing sheer up
against a sky of cloud and sea-mist, the tops of the granite peaks
being merged and hidden in the vapor. At the foot of the precipice
beat a wild sea, tossing and flecked with foam; and out of the
flying spray rose sharp splinters of granite, standing like spearheads
about the base of the solid rock. As I looked, something stirred
far off in the distance, like a fly crawling over the smooth crag.
Fixing my gaze upon it I became aware that there was at a great
height above the sea, midway between sky and water, a narrow
unprotected footpath winding up and down irregularly along the side
of the mighty cliff;--a slender, sloping path, horrible to look at,
like a rope or a thread stretched mid-air, hanging between heaven
and the hungry foam. One by one, came towards me along this awful
path a procession of horses, drawing tall narrow carts filled with
bales of merchandise. The horses moved along the edge of the crag
as though they clung to it, their bodies aslant towards the wall
of granite on their right, their legs moving with the precision of
creatures feeling and grasping every step. Like deer they moved,--
not like horses, and as they advanced, the carts they drew swayed
behind them, and I thought every jolt would hurl them over the
precipice. Fascinated I watched,--I could not choose but watch.
At length came a grey horse, not drawing a cart, but carrying
something on his back,--on a pack-saddle apparently. Like the
rest he came on stealthily, sniffing every inch of the terrible way,
until, just at the worst and giddiest point he paused, hesitated,
and seemed about to turn.---I saw him back himself in a crouching
attitude against the wall of rock behind him, lowering his haunches,
and rearing his head in a strange manner. The idea flashed on me