the mountain.

The king, without once taking his eyes from the Heaven-sent creature,
mounted his war-steed, and sounded the bugle which hung at his girdle;
and the great army, confiding in the wisdom of their leader, began to
move. The white stag went first, steadily following a narrow pathway,
which led upward by many steep ascents, seemingly to the very clouds;
and behind him rode Charlemagne, keeping ever in view his radiant,
hopeful guide, and followed by the long line of knights and warriors,
who, cheered by his earnest faith, never once feared the end.

Higher and higher they climbed, and more and more difficult became the
way. On one side of them arose a steep wall, shutting out from their
sight more than half of the sky; on the other side, dark gorges and
yawning gulfs descended, threatening to bury the whole army in their
bottomless depths. And by and by they came to the region of snow and
ice, where the Storm-king holds his court, and reigns in ever-lasting
solitude. Looking back, they could see sweet France, lying spread out
as a map beneath them, its pleasant fields and its busy towns seeming
only as specks in the dim distance. But when they looked forward,
hoping there to see a like map of fair Italy, only the rocks and the
ice, and the narrow pathway, and the desolate mountain crags, met their
sight.

They would have become disheartened by the difficulties before them,
and have turned back in utter despair, had not the bright form of their
guide, and the cheerful countenance of Charlemagne, inspired them with
ever-renewed hope. For seven days they toiled among the dangerous
steeps; and on the eighth a glorious vision burst upon their view--the
smiling plains of Italy lay before them.