The day grew lighter and warmer as they floated along. After a while
the river rounded a steep shoulder of land that came down upon their
left. Under its rocky feet like an inland cliff the deepest stream had
flowed lapping and bubbling. Suddenly the cliff fell away. The shores
sank. The trees ended. Then Bilbo saw a sight: The lands opened wide
about him, filled with the waters of the river which broke up and
wandered in a hundred winding courses, or halted in marshes and pools
dotted with isles on every side: but still a strong water flowed on
steadily through the midst. And far away, its dark head in a torn
cloud, there loomed the Mountain! Its nearest neighbours to the
North-East and the tumbled land that joined it to them could not be
seen. All alone it rose and looked across the marshes to the forest.
The Lonely Mountain! Bilbo had come far and through many adventures to
see it, and now he did not like the look of it in the least.
     As he listened to the talk of the raftmen and pieced together the
scraps of information they let fall, he soon realized that he was very
fortunate ever to have seen it at all, even from this distance. Dreary
as had been his imprisonment and unpleasant as was his position (to
say nothing of the poor dwarves underneath him) still, he had been