L. But Thou, exulting and abounding river! Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever 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 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. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear: 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, Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, 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) 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 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 lours, 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, 4. The river nobly foams and flows, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round; To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! |