[St Goar] [section title]
[ST GOAR]
a
["St. Goar"] [poem]
We
b
past a rock, whose bare front ever,
c
Had borne the brunt of wind, & weather, 1
And downwards by the Rhine we bore,
Upon the village of St Goar,
That mid the hills embosomed lay,
Where the Rhine checked his onward way,
And lay the mighty crags between,
As if, enamoured of the scene,
He loved not on his way to wind,
And leave a scene so fair behind
For grim the chasm, through whose cleft,
The waters had a passage reft,
And gaunt the gorge that yawned before
Through which, emerging, they must roar,
No marvel they should love to rest,
And peaceful spread their placid breast,
Before, in fury driving dread,
Tormented on their rocky bed,
Or flinging far their scattering spray,
Oʼer the peaked rocks that barred their way,
Wave upon wave at random tossed,
Or in the giddy whirlpool lost, 2
And now are undisturbed sleeping,
No more on rocks those billows beating,
But lightly laughing laps the tide,
Where stoop the vineyards to his side.
Had borne the brunt of wind, & weather, 1
And downwards by the Rhine we bore,
Upon the village of St Goar,
That mid the hills embosomed lay,
System generated line number
5Where the Rhine checked his onward way,
And lay the mighty crags between,
As if, enamoured of the scene,
He loved not on his way to wind,
And leave a scene so fair behind
System generated line number
10For grim the chasm, through whose cleft,
The waters had a passage reft,
And gaunt the gorge that yawned before
Through which, emerging, they must roar,
No marvel they should love to rest,
System generated line number
15And peaceful spread their placid breast,
Before, in fury driving dread,
Tormented on their rocky bed,
Or flinging far their scattering spray,
Oʼer the peaked rocks that barred their way,
System generated line number
20Wave upon wave at random tossed,
Or in the giddy whirlpool lost, 2
And now are undisturbed sleeping,
No more on rocks those billows beating,
But lightly laughing laps the tide,
System generated line number
25Where stoop the vineyards to his side.
"St. Goar" [essay]
St. Goar is the least and sweetest place
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on all the Rhine. There is Godesberg, with
its hilltop crested with ruins, there is
Andernacht with its venerable remains
of antiquity, there is Ehrenbreitstein, upon
whose cliff never traitor stood, looking out,
far away over its rich sea of champaign, yet
there is nothing like St Goar. It has a
lone hill beauty, the little scene around
it, is exceeding small, but it has a mod‐
est secluded loveliness. You look on An‐
dernacht with veneration, on Ehrenbreit‐
stein with awe, but on St. Goar with
love. 3
on all the Rhine. There is Godesberg, with
its hilltop crested with ruins, there is
Andernacht with its venerable remains
of antiquity, there is Ehrenbreitstein, upon
whose cliff never traitor stood, looking out,
far away over its rich sea of champaign, yet
there is nothing like St Goar. It has a
lone hill beauty, the little scene around
it, is exceeding small, but it has a mod‐
est secluded loveliness. You look on An‐
dernacht with veneration, on Ehrenbreit‐
stein with awe, but on St. Goar with
love. 3
There is a voice in all nature; List to
the rave of the mad sea; Speaks it not
eloquently, does it not tell of its green,
weedy caverns, and its coral towers, and
and e the high hills and shelly vallies, far,
far beneath its cold blue. 4 List to the
song of the summer breeze, does it not
tell of the blue heavens, and the white
clouds, and other climes, and other sea‐
sons, and spicy gales and myrtle bow‐
ers, and sweet things far away. How
sweetly the Rhine sings at St Goar,
and it tells of the arched grottoes of the
glacier, and the crags of the far Alps, &
how it joys to dash against tall rock
once more.
the rave of the mad sea; Speaks it not
eloquently, does it not tell of its green,
weedy caverns, and its coral towers, and
and e the high hills and shelly vallies, far,
far beneath its cold blue. 4 List to the
song of the summer breeze, does it not
tell of the blue heavens, and the white
clouds, and other climes, and other sea‐
sons, and spicy gales and myrtle bow‐
ers, and sweet things far away. How
sweetly the Rhine sings at St Goar,
and it tells of the arched grottoes of the
glacier, and the crags of the far Alps, &
how it joys to dash against tall rock
once more.