XLVIII.

Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state Each robber chief upheld his armed halls,

Doing his evil will, nor less elate

Than mightier heroes of a longer date.

What want these outlaws (10) conquerors should have? 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 brave.

XLIX.

In their baronial feuds and single fields, What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields, With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on Keen contest and destruction near allied, And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run.

L.

But Thou, exulting and abounding river!
Making thy waves a blessing as they flow

Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever
Could man but leave thy bright creation so,
Nor its fair promise from the surface mow
With the sharp scythe of conflict,—then to see
Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know

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,
Yet not insensibly to all which here
Awoke the jocund birds to early song

In glens which might have made even exile dear:
Though on his brow were graven lines austere,
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place
Of feelings fierier far but less severe,

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,

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 glow'd 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!

1.

The castled crag of Drachenfels (11)
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me!

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 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!