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Beneath these battlements, within those walls,
But History's purchased page to call them great ? - A wider space, an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as braye.
And many a tower for some fair mischief won,
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 let he be.
A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks,
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 6'er the blackened memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vaiply roll, all sweeping as they seem.
Joy was not always absent from his face,
In one fond breast, to wbich his own would melt,
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 glowed 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 í
The castled crag of Drachenfels
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 grey, 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!
LVI. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdaut mound; Beneath its base are beroes' 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.
Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, -
On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept
LVIII. Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall Black with the miner’s blast, upon the 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 somer'» raioOn which the iron shower for years had pour’d in vain.