noon
The golden eagle of the Himalayas hangs in mid-air , a sheet of polished metal to the eye , pausing sometimes in the full blaze of reflection , as ages ago the sun and the moon stood still in the valley of Ajalon ; too magnificent for description , as he is too dazzling to look at . The whole scene , if no greater name can be given to it , is on a scale so Titanic in its massive length and breadth and depth , that you stand utterly trembling and weak and foolish as you look for the first time . You have never seen such masses of the world before . It was in such a spot as this that , nearly at noon on the appointed day , my dooly-bearers set me down and warned me I was at my journey 's end . I stepped out and stood on the narrow way , pausing to look and to enjoy all that I saw . I had been in other parts of the lower Himalayas before , and the first sensations I had experienced had given way to those of a contemplative admiration . No longer awed or overpowered or oppressed by the sense of physical insignificance in my own person , I could endure to look on the stupendous panorama before me , and could even analyse what I felt .