He hired a guide to the
town, arrived in safety, and slept in quiet.
"The rest of his journey was nothing but danger. He climbed and
descended precipices on which vulgar mortals tremble to look; he
passed marshes like the Serbonian bog,* where armies whole have
sunk; he forded rivers where the current roared like the Egre or
the Severn; or ventured himself on bridges that trembled under
him, from which he looked down on foaming whirlpools, or dreadful
abysses; he wandered over houseless heaths, amidst all the rage
of the elements, with the snow driving in his face, and the
tempest howling in his ears.
*Lake Serbonis in Egypt. Sand being blown over it by the winds
gave it the appearance of solid ground, whereas it was a bog.
"A gulf profound as the Serbonian bog. . . .
Where armies whole have sunk." -- MILTON.
"Such are the colours in which Marvel paints his adventures. He
has accustomed himself to sounding words and hyperbolical images,
till he has lost the power of true description.
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