Chapter M: Arnold

THE CASTLED CRAG OF DRACHENFELS

The castled crag of Drachenfels 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 blossomed trees, 5 And fields which promise corn and wine, And scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strewed a scene, which I should see With double joy wert _thou_ with me. 10

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; 15 And many a rock which steeply lowers, 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! 20

I send the lilies given to me; Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must withered be, But yet reject them not as such; For I have cherished them as dear, 25 Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, And offered from my heart to thine! 30

The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round: The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 35 Through life to dwell delighted here: Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! 40

LORD BYRON.

'UP THE RHINE'

Why, Tourist, why
With Passport have to do?
Pr'ythee stay at home and pass
The Port and Sherry too.

Why, Tourist, why 5
Embark for Rotterdam?
Pr'ythee stay at home and take
Thy Hollands in a dram.

Why, Tourist, why
To foreign climes repair? 10
Pr'ythee take thy German Flute,
And breathe a German air.

Why, Tourist, why
The Seven Mountains view?
Any one at home can tint 15
A hill with Prussian Blue.

Why, Tourist, why
To old Colonia's walls?
Sure, to see a _Wrenish_ Dome,
One needn't leave St. Paul's. 20

T. HOOD.

COLOGNE

In Koehln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fanged with murderous stones,
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks! 5
Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine? 10

S. T. COLERIDGE.

THE PURSUIT OF LETTERS

The Germans for Learning enjoy great repute; But the English make _Letters_ still more a pursuit; For a Cockney will go from the banks of the Thames To Cologne for an _O_ and to Nassau for M's.

T. HOOD.

FROM 'DOVER TO MUNICH'

Farewell, farewell! Before our prow
Leaps in white foam the noisy channel;
A tourist's cap is on my brow,
My legs are cased in tourist's flannel:

Around me gasp the invalids-- 5
(The quantity to-night is fearful)
I take a brace or so of weeds,
And feel (as yet) extremely cheerful.

The night wears on:--my thirst I quench
With one imperial pint of porter; 10
Then drop upon a casual bench--
(The bench is short, but I am shorter)--

Place 'neath my head the _havre-sac_
Which I have stored my little all in,
And sleep, though moist about the back, 15
Serenely in an old tarpaulin.

Bed at Ostend at 5 a.m.
Breakfast at 6, and train 6.30,
Tickets to Koenigswinter (mem.
The seats objectionably dirty). 20

And onward through those dreary flats
We move, with scanty space to sit on,
Flanked by stout girls with steeple hats,
And waists that paralyse a Briton;--

By many a tidy little town, 25
Where tidy little Fraus sit knitting,
(The men's pursuits are, lying down,
Smoking perennial pipes, and spitting;)

And doze, and execrate the heat,
And wonder how far off Cologne is, 30
And if we shall get aught to eat,
Till we get there, save raw polonies;

Until at last the 'grey old pile'
Is seen, is past, and three hours later
We're ordering steaks, and talking vile 35
Mock-German to an Austrian waiter.

* * * * *

On, on the vessel steals; Round go the paddle wheels, And now the tourist feels As he should; 40 For king-like rolls the Rhine, And the scenery's divine, And the victuals and the wine Rather good.

From every crag we pass 'll 45 Rise up some hoar old castle; The hanging fir-groves tassel Every slope; And the vine her lithe arm stretches O'er peasants singing catches-- 50 And you'll make no end of sketches, I should hope.

We've a nun here (called Therese), Two couriers out of place, One Yankee with a face 55 Like a ferret's: And three youths in scarlet caps Drinking chocolate and schnapps-- A diet which perhaps Has its merits. 60

And day again declines: In shadow sleep the vines, And the last ray through the pines Feebly glows, Then sinks behind yon ridge; 65 And the usual evening midge Is settling on the bridge Of my nose.

And keen's the air and cold, And the sheep are in the fold, 70 And Night walks sable-stoled Through the trees; And on the silent river The floating starbeams quiver;-- And now, the saints deliver 75 Us from fleas.

* * * * *

Avenues of broad white houses,
Basking in the noontide glare;--
Streets, which foot of traveller shrinks from,
As on hot plates shrinks the bear;-- 80

Elsewhere lawns, and vistaed gardens,
Statues white, and cool arcades,
Where at eve the German warrior
Winks upon the German maids;--

Such is Munich:--broad and stately, 85
Rich of hue, and fair of form;
But, towards the end of August,
Unequivocally _warm_.