Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 477, February 19, 1831 - Various - Страница 5

Cologne! Cologne! Thy walls are won,

Farewell my bark—be hush'd my song;

My voyage is o'er—my task is done—

Too pleasant both to last me long.

Adieu, thou noble Rhine, adieu,

Thy scenes for ever rich and new,

Thy cheerful towns, thy Gothic piles,

Thy rude ravines, thy verdant isles;

Thy golden hills with garlands bound,

Thy giant crags with castles crown'd!

I have seen thee by morning's early light,

I have seen thee by evening gray;

With the crimson blush of sun-set bright,

And lit by the moon's pale ray;

Shrouded in mist and darken'd by storm,

With the countless tints of autumn warm:

In ev'ry hue that can o'er thee fall;

And lovely, lovely thou art in all.

The Rhine!—That little word will be

For aye a spell of power to me,

And conjure up, in care's despite,

A thousand visions of delight.

The Rhine! O where beneath the sun

Doth that fair river's rival run?

Where dawns the day upon a stream,

Can in such changeful beauty shine,

Outstripping Fancy's wildest dream,

Like yon green, glancing, glorious Rhine.

Born where blooms the Alpine rose,

Cradled in the Boden—see,3

Forth the infant river flows,

Leaping on in childish glee.

Coming to a riper age,

He crowns his rocky cup with wine,

And makes a gallant pilgrimage

To many a ruin'd tower and shrine.

Strong and swift, and wild and brave,

On he speeds with crested wave;

And spurning aught like check or stay,

Fights and foams along his way,

O'er crag and shoal, until his flood

Boils like manhood's hasty blood!

Older, broader, deeper grown,

All romantic follies flown,

Now the laden Beurtschiff sails

Slowly o'er his sober tide,

Which wanders on through fertile vales,

And looks like Peace by Plenty's side.

Joy and strife, and labour past,

In his grave he sinks at last!

Not the common river's tomb—

Not the ocean's mighty womb;

Into earth he melts away,

Like that very thing of clay,

Man, whose brief and checker'd course

He hath copied from his source.4

Farewell thou "Father Rhine," as they

Who dwell beside thee fondly say,

May thy delicious valley long

Echo the sweet and grateful song.

Which ever round the goblet rose—

And well thy minstrel's lay may close.