Hans of Iceland, Volume 1 by Victor Hugo

Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; While the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task foredone. Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud. Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide. SHAKESPEARE: _Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Let us now retrace our steps. We left Ordener and Spiagudry struggling laboriously up the brow of Oëlmœ cliff by the light of the rising moon. This rock, bare of vegetation at the point where it begins to curve, is, from this peculiarity, called by the Norwegian peasants the Vulture's Neck, -- a name which gives an excellent idea of the aspect of this huge granite bowlder as seen from a distance.