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 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? Thy tide was hd 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 blaken'd memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they

seem.

LII.

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,
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place
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.
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,
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,-
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.

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, That love was pure, and, far above disguise, 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 Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour !

1.

The castled crag of Drachenfels 11)

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise eorn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.

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

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, -
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;
For 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,
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 turus disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round:
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
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,

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.

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, 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 12).

LVIII.

Here Ehrenbreitstein 13), with her shatter'd wall 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: But peace destroy'd what War could never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Summers rainOn 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! 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, 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;
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,
But none unite in one attaching maze

The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old days,

LXI.

The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom
Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,

The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,
The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been
In mockery of man's art; and these withal
A race of faces happy as the scene,

Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall.

LXII.

But these recede. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls

Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche - the thunderbolt of snow! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.

LXIII.

But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain,— Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plan; Here Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, A bony heap, through ages to remain, Themselves their monument; the Stygian coast Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wandering ghost 14).

LXIV.

While Waterloo with Cannae's carnage vies, Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand; They were true Glory's stainless victories, Won by the unambitious heart and hand Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band, All unbought champions in no princely cause Of vice- entail'd Corruption; they no land Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic clause.