It is impossible to describe this pass or the circumjacent region,
which contains some of the most extraordinary scenery
In all Spain;
a feeble and imperfect outline is all that I can hope to effect.
The traveller who ascends it follows for nearly a league the course
of the torrent, whose banks are in some places precipitous, and in
others slope down to the waters, and are covered with lofty trees,
oaks, poplars, and chestnuts. Small villages are at first
continually seen, with low walls, and roofs formed of immense
slates, the eaves nearly touching the ground; these hamlets,
however, gradually become less frequent as the path grows more
steep and narrow, until they finally cease at a short distance
before the spot is attained where the rivulet is abandoned, and is
no more seen, though its tributaries may yet be heard in many a
gully, or descried in tiny rills dashing down the steeps.
Everything here is wild, strange, and beautiful: the hill up which
winds the path towers above on the right, whilst on the farther
side of a profound ravine rises an immense mountain, to whose
extreme altitudes the eye is scarcely able to attain; but the most
singular feature of this pass are the hanging fields or meadows
which cover its sides. In these, as I passed, the grass was
growing luxuriantly, and in many the mowers were plying their
scythes, though it seemed scarcely possible that their feet could
find support on ground so precipitous:
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