Oh come, gentle pilgrim,
From far distant strand,
Come, gaze on the pride
Of the old German land.
On that wonder of nature,
That vision divine
Of the past and the present,
The exquisite Rhine.
As soft as a smile,
And as sweet as a song,
Its famous old billows
Roll murm'ring along.
From its source on the mount,
Whence it flies in the sea,
It flashes with beauty
As bright as can be.
With the azure of heaven,
Its first waters flow,
And it leaps like an arrow
Escaped from a bow;
While reflecting the glories
Its hill-sides that crown,
It then sweeps in grandeur
By castle and town.
And when, from the red
Gleaming tow'rs of Mayence,
Enchanted thou'rt borne
In bewildering trance,
By death-breathing ruin,
By life-giving wine—
By thy dark-frowning turrets,
Old Ehrenbreitstein!
To where the half magic
Cathedral looks down
On the crowds at its base,
Of the ancient Cologne,
While in rapture thy dazzled
And wondering eyes
Scarce follow the pictures,
As bright, as they rise,
As the dreams of thy youth,
Which thou vainly wouldst stay,
But they float, from thy longings,
Like shadows away.
Thou wilt find on the banks
Of the wonderful stream,
Fall many a spot
That an Eden doth seem.
And thy bosom will ache
With a secret despair,
That thou canst not inhabit
A landscape so fair,
And feign thou wouldst linger
Eternity there.
At the loveliest bend of the lovely river,
See it once, forget it never,
Swells the hill o'er a valley sweet,
Where Rudolph’s castle had its seat.
Fair it was—a vision bright,
Buried in foliage—bathed in light—
A velvet lawn more green,
And spotless, soft and tender, ne'er,
Shining in the summer air,
From a river's brink did lean.
Look for it net, O traveller!
Only a heap of stones is there.
Nothing more to-day is seen,
Than waving wood and meadow green.
And the loftier mountain forms that rise,
Leaning their breasts on the azure skies,
Reaching up with their wooded ground,
And closing the peaceful vale around,
As if to shut out noise and care,
From those forest shades, from that fragrant air.
Nothing else remaineth there,
It was a day in gorgeous June,
In the deepest hush of afternoon,
When Ulric, by a horseman’s way,
Across a lofty height that lay,
The summit reached, whose brow looked o'er
Rock and castle, vale and shore.
Entranced, he drew his courser's rein,
And paused—as he would thus remain
For ever!—thus remain to gaze
In soft delight and sweet amaze.
Tow'ring up in feudal state,
Upon a lower summit sat
The castle proud of Rudolstadt.
Between, the valley, bending low,
Reached to kiss the river's flow,
Then backward wound where gorges deep
Through sloping fields and forest sweep.
And devious walks meandered through
Black wood and stately avenue,
Climbed graceful up the steep ascent,
Or down the broken valley went,
Winding in, and bending round,
Over the enchanted ground,
Through blissful shades the fancy led,
Where angels' feet might deign to tread.
Upon the landscape, bright and warm,
Lay the sunset's radiant charm.
Ringing through the vale was heard
The warbling of night's wond'rous bird;
While field and flow'r, refreshed with dew,
That from the cooling river blew,
Their balmy fragrance upward threw.
Checked sudden in his swift career,
With bending neck, and pointed ear,
The coal-black Sultan, silent, stood,
Down gazing broad o'er vale and flood.
Scene of beauty!—Hour of rest!—
Wherefore trembled Ulric’s breast?
Wherefore stirred the secret sigh?
Whence the voice that floated by?
"Earth is no abiding place.
All its sweetness—all its grace!
Trust them not! they are a snare!
Thou knowest! thou knowest! beware! beware!"
While thus he sat, a company
Of noble knight and dame,
Their mirthful voices ringing high,
With sportive jest and revelry,
Out from the forest came.
And straightway all with greetings loud
Around the musing Ulric crowd.
Hubert and Lady Emiline,
And with her, Marie Ravenstein,
And a throng of others, brave and fair,
With one accord their joy declare,
And in the mingling throng foremost,
Loud out-spoke the noisy host,
A welcome for his friend;
While his lady nearer drew,
And gave her graceful greeting too,
In which, her smile appearing through,
A slight reproach did blend.
"We looked not for so long delay,
But waited thee this many a day.
My little Fritz and I,
Last evening, thought we saw thee ride
Up from the plain." The boy replied:
"And watched thee, by yon fountain's side,
Until my hair with dew was wet,
And the last tint of the sunset
Had faded from the sky."
"What!" Ulric asked, "and can it be
In this tall boy, thy son I see!
The tiny, rosy babe, whose play
Amused me so but yesterday?"
"Aye," Hubert said, "and stouter knight,
Of the same years, ne'er put to flight
Dragon and giant from the field,
Or mighty armies taught to yield!
A handsome stripling, is not he?
And, by the way,they say like me!"
"Like thee!" He paused, and seemed to trace
More of the mother in his face—
"The falling lash—the deepening cheek—
The eye—the smile—and when they speak—"
But Hubert listened not, for he
Addressed him to the fair Marie,
And whispered till the laughing maid
Blushed deep and turned away her head.
While Ulric, at her beauty's glow,
To Emiline did murmur low:
"In faith! we soldiers, 'scape the war,
Only at home to yield
To other dangers, deadlier far,
Than e'er our mailed bosoms scar,
Upon the hottest field!"
Laughed Emiline with silvery voice:
"Right well we cruel dames rejoice,
To mark the soft mischance!
And love to stand unpitying by,
And see you boasting warriors die,
By Beauty's conquering glance."
While thus they spoke, the sable steed,
Which Ulric rode, the rest admire,
His limbs, for vigor formed and speed,
His massive strength, his warlike fire.
With arched neck and rolling eye,
His head superb, now lifted high,
With sudden toss he frequent cast,
Light hanging on the glossy chest,
The foam-flake, white as snow.
While startled, now, he backward trod,
His stamp unpatient broke the sod,
Then paused, intelligent, to gaze,
With ears erect and pleased amaze,
Upon the vale below.
And Emiline unheeding laid
Her hand upon the doubtful steed,
His bending neck her fingers press,
And soothe his fear with soft caress,
And something of love's tenderness—
Who, with distended nostril, first,
Back started, quick, with shy distrust,
Then gentler turned, in mild surprise,
On her his large and shining eyes,
And bent his head and stood at rest,
And calmer feelings filled his breast,
As if full well, to judge, he knew,
Between such lady fair, and foe.
"Ho Sultan! stand!"
The iron hand
Of Ulric sought in vain,
With terror filled,
And plunging wild,
His sudden flight to rein.
All furious pressed
The fiery beast,
Through shrieks of wild alarm;
One more step on
Had trampled down
The lady's tender form,
Sole way there gave
Her life to save—
A daring, swift retreat;
He did not shrink,
But to the brink,
Back forced his courser's feet.
And shrieked more loud
Th' affrighted crowd,
As horse and rider, prone
The deep chasm o'er,
One moment more
Had backward gone and down.
But Ulric had a quiet eye,
And saw a heavy sand-bank lie,
And skilful knew his fall to guide
To its less steep and yielding side.
And hearty laughter, peal on peal,
The boisterous Hubert's joy reveal;
And clasped hands from knight and dame,
When, backward clambering, Ulric came,
And led his steed, and nearer drew,
And joined himself the laughter too.
"But, ho!" cried Hubert, with alarm,
"The blood is dripping from thy arm!"
"'Tis nothing," Ulric said—then sank,
And paler grew, upon a bank.
Said Hubert, "Nothing! on my life!
Rip up the sleeve! Look to him, wife!
Quick! Emiline, thy scarf! Dispatch!
Now, by St. Paul! a pretty scratch!"
And silent kneeling on the ground,
She gently cut the sleeve and bound,
With careful hands, the ghastly wound.