THE STEAMER ON THE RHINE.
COME sat in silence with a vacant air;
S some portly ladies slumbered here and there;
Five gentlemen drank beer; and other two
With greasy whiskers gobbled up a stew;
One read the " Times"; and one was on the rack
Because his trunk was left at Andernack;
The steward went about with cakes and ices,
And German sausages in dumpy slices;
Some pug-nosed dogs lay in some spinsters' laps;
Some soldiers strutted in some odd-shaped caps;
Promiscuous groups, stretched listless 'neath the awning,
Were smoking, knitting, munching grapes, and yawning:
The breathing landscape swept in glory by,-
"When will they give us dinner?" was the cry;
Green summer smiled upon the vine-clad hills,
The tourists counted up their little bills;
Old church, and older castle, lovely both,
"Thank Heaven! at last they lay the tablecloth!"
Henry Glassford Bell.
A THOUGHT FROM THE RHINE.
HEARD an eagle crying all alone
Above the vineyards through the summer night, Among the skeletons of robber towers,
The iron homes of iron-hearted lords,
Now crumbling back to ruin year by year,
Because the ancient eyry of his race
Is trenched and walled by busy-handed men,
And all his forest-chace and woodland wild,
Wherefrom he fed his young with hare and roe,
Are trim with grapes, which swell from hour to hour
And toss their golden tendrils to the sun
For joy at their own riches: so, I thought,
The great devourers of the earth shall sit,
Idle and impotent, they know not why,
Down-staring from their barren height of state
On nations grown too wise to slay and slave,
The puppets of the few, while peaceful love
And fellow-help make glad the heart of earth,
With wonders which they fear and hate, as he
The eagle hates the vineyard slopes below.
Charles Kingsley.
E've sailed through banks of green,
Where the wild waves fret and quiver,
And we've down the Danube been,
The dark, deep, thundering river!
We've threaded the Elbe and Rhone,
The Tiber and blood-dyed Seine,
And have watched where the blue Garonne
Goes laughing to meet the main :
But what is so lovely, what is so grand,
As the river that runs through Rhine-land?
On the Rhine-river were we born,
Midst its flowers and famous wines,
And we know that our country's morn
With a treble-sweet aspect shines.
Let other lands boast their flowers,
Let other men dream wild dreams,
Let them hope they 've a land like ours,
And a stream, like our stream of streams :
Yet what is half so bright or so grand
As the river that runs through Rhine-land?
Are we smit by the blinding sun
That fell on our tender youth?
Do we, coward-like, shrink and shun
The thought-telling touch of Truth?
On our heads be the sin, then, set!
We'll bear all the shame divine:
But we 'll never disown the debt
That we owe to our noble Rhine!
O, the Rhine! the Rhine! the broad and the grand,
Is the river that runs through Rhine-land!
HE Rhine, the far-famed, castled Rhine,
The mirror-stream of chivalry!
What legends hang about its course,
From Mount St. Gothard to the sea!
Most famous of historic streams,
Its banks have long been classic ground; From the dim ages of the past,
In story and in song renowned.
The Rhine, the legendary Rhine!
What tales so wondrous e'er were told
As those of its fiend-haunted wilds,
Its lovely nymphs, and knights of old!
River of battle and romance,
Chivalric Rhine! to it belong
The records of the historic page,
The legend, and the poet's song.
It drinks the cool, clear glacier-stream,
'Neath azure skies and Alpine snows;
A brook, a torrent, and a lake,
It rushes on, and greater grows.
It winds by many a castled rock,
And many a dark and dreadful steep,
Where grim old ruins o'er its flood
Their watch like jealous guardians keep.
The Rhine, the wild, romantic Rhine,
The wondrous, spectre-haunted stream!
Its sight brings back the distant past:
I gaze upon it, and I dream.
I see these castles as they stood
Many a hundred years ago:
I hear the challenge and reply,
As mail-clad horsemen come and go.
I see dark forests stretching far,
Where trees no longer have a place;
I listen to the hunting-horn
Of stout old Rhinegraves in the chase.
I hear the merry laugh and shout
Of many a joyous party bent
On the high sport of falconry,
Or bound to some great tournament.
How fair the ladies whom I see
On pillioned palfreys gayly ride!
How brave and courteous are the knights
Who canter proudly by their side!
O for the days when noble deeds
Alone gained grace in beauty's eyes, -
When men held honor more than life,
And fame, not wealth, the sought-for prize!
O for the days of chivalry,
Of tournament and glittering throng, And masque and pageantry and feast, And lady-love and minstrel song!
O for a life-long summer day
To gaze on yonder glorious stream, And give my wandering fancy play In many a visionary dream!
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