They crown'd him long ago
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.
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Mount o'er the Vales, and seem to tread the Sky;
Th' Eternal Snows appear already past,
And the first Clouds and Mountains seem the last:
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing Labours of the lengthen'd Way,
Th' increasing Prospect tires our wandring Eyes,
Hills peep o'er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
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RGB: 53 49 38
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RGB: 160 141 135
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RGB: 111 102 37
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RGB: 170 186 209
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RGB: 170 190 215