A wider space, an ornamented grave? | |
Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. | |
XLIX | |
In their baronial feuds and single fields, | |
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! | |
435 | And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields, |
With emblems well devised by amorous pride, | |
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; | |
But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on | |
Keen contest and destruction near allied, | |
440 | And many a tower for some fair mischief won, |
Saw the discolour’d Rhine beneath its ruin run. | |
L | |
But Thou, exulting and abounding river! | |
Making their waves a blessing as they flow | |
Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever | |
445 | Could man but leave thy bright creation so, |
Nor its fair promise from the surface mow | |
With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see | |
Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know | |
Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me, | |
450 | Even now what wants thy stream? – that it should Lethe be. |
LI | |
A thousand battles have assail’d thy banks, | |
But these and half their fame have pass’d away, | |
And Slaughter heap’d on high his weltering ranks; | |
Their very graves are gone, and what are they? | |
455 | Thy tide wash’d down the blood of yesterday, |
And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream | |
Glass’d with its dancing light the sunny ray; | |
But o’er the blacken’d memory’s blighting dream | |
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. | |
LII | |
460 | Thus Harold inly said, and pass’d along, |
Yet not insensibly to all which here | |
Awoke the jocund birds to early song | |
In glens which might have made even exile dear: | |
Though on his brow were graven lines austere, | |
465 | And tranquil sternness which had ta’en the plac |
Of feelings fierier far but less severe, | |
Joy was not always absent from his face, | |
But o’er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. | |
LIII | |
Nor was all love shut from him, though his days | |
470 | Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. |
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze | |
On such as smile upon us; the heart must | |
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust | |
Hath wean’d it from all worldlings: thus he felt, | |
475 | For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust |
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, | |
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. | |
LIV | |
And he had learn’d to love, – I know not why, | |
For this in such as him seems strange of mood, – | |
480 | The helpless looks of blooming infancy, |
Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, | |
To change like this, a mind so far imbued | |
With scorn of man, it little boots to know; | |
But thus it was; and though in solitude | |
485 | Small power the nipp’d affections have to grow, |
In him this glow’d when all beside had ceased to glow. | |
LV | |
And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, | |
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties | |
Than the church links withal; and, though unwed, | |
490 | That |
Had stood the test of mortal enmities | |
Still undivided, and cemented more | |
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; | |
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore | |
495 | Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour! |
I | |
The castled crag of Drachenfels | |
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine, | |
Whose breast of waters broadly swells | |
Between the banks which bear the vine, | |
500 | And hills all rich with blossom’d trees, |
And fields which promise corn and wine, | |
And scatter’d cities crowning these, | |
Whose far white walls along them shine, | |
Have strew’d a scene, which I should see | |
505 | With double joy wert |
2 | |
And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, | |
And hands which offer early flowers, | |
Walk smiling o’er this paradise; | |
Above, the frequent feudal towers | |
510 | Through green leaves lift their walls of gray; |
And many a rock which steeply lowers | |
And noble arch in proud decay | |
Look o’er this vale of vintage-bowers | |
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, – | |
515 | Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! |
3 | |
I send the lilies given to me; | |
Though long before thy hand they touch, | |
I know that they must wither’d be, | |
But yet reject them not as such; | |
520 | For I have cherish’d them as dear, |
Because they yet may meet thine eye, | |
And guide thy soul to mine even here, | |
When thou behold’st them drooping nigh, | |
And know’st them gather’d by the Rhine, | |
525 | And offer’d from my heart to thine! |
4 | |
The river nobly foams and flows, | |
The charm of this enchanted ground, | |
And all its thousand turns disclose | |
Some fresher beauty varying round: | |
530 | The haughtiest breast its wish might bound |
Through life to dwell delighted here; | |
Nor could on earth a spot be found | |
To nature and to me so dear, | |
Could thy dear eyes in following mine | |
535 | Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! |
LVI | |
By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, | |
There is a small and simple pyramid, | |
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; | |
Beneath its base are heroes’ ashes hid, | |
540 | Our enemy’s – but let not that forbid |
Honour to Marceau! o’er whose early tomb | |
Tears, big tears, gush’d from the rough soldier’s lid, | |
Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, | |
Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. | |
LVII | |
545 | Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, – |
His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes; | |
And fitly may the stranger lingering here | |
Pray for his gallant spirit’s bright repose; | |
For he was Freedom’s champion, one of those, | |
550 | The few in number, who had not o’erstept |
The charter to chastise which she bestows | |
On such as wield her weapons; he had kept | |
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept. | |
LVIII | |
Here Ehrenbreitstein, | |
555 | Black with the miner’s blast, upon her height |
Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball | |
Rebounding idly on her strength did light: | |
A tower of victory! from whence the flight | |
Of baffled foes was watch’d along the plain: | |
560 | But Peace destroy’d what War could never blight, |
And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer’s rain – | |
On which the iron shower for years had pour’d in vain. | |
LIX | |
Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted | |
The stranger fain would linger on his way! | |
565 | Thine is a scene alike where souls united |
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; | |
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey | |
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, | |
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, | |
570 | Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, |
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. | |
LX | |
Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! | |
There can be no farewell to scene like thine; | |
The mind is colour’d by thy every hue; | |
575 | And if reluctantly the eyes resign |
Their cherish’d gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! | |
’Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise; | |
More mighty spots may rise — more glaring shine, |