HEIDELBERG.
The rain had past away;
And glimmered forth the pallid moon,
Amid the heavens grey.
Brake, and bush, and mead, and flower
Were glistening with the sunny shower;
Where, from the tangled, viny wreath,
The clustered grape looked out beneath,—
Climbing up the southern side
Of the round hillsʼ bosom wide,—
Branches of the chain that bound
All the south horizon round.
Far towards the western day
Mannheimʼs towers softened lay.— 1
But a moment:—darkly down a
Came the thunder, heavenʼs frown!
ʼMong the trees, a fitful shaking
Told the hoarse night‐wind was waking.
Grey upon his mountain throne,
Heidelberg his ruins lone
Reared colossally;
All begirt with mighty trees,
Whistling with the evenʼs breeze,
Flapping faintly by. 2
Cumbered with its ruins hoar,
All that lovely valley bright
We were looking oʼer,
With its silver river bending,—
Vineyards to its banks descending. 3
Many a distant mountain chain
Girded round the mighty plain.
Here the sky was clear and bright;
But upon their distant height,
Like a monster oʼer his prey,
Rain and tempest scowling lay;
Like a mighty ocean‐wave,
All along the horizon sweeping,
Flinging far its cloudy spray,
Oʼer the peaceful heaven beating.
But climbed the cloud yet more and more,
Into the heaven dancing,
Till,—like the scouring bands before
Embattled armiesʼ path advancing,—
Circling the sun with mazy ring,
They wildly on came scattering.
Then deeper, darker, heavier grew
The fitful light the red sun threw
On the gaunt ruinʼs ghostly wall;
And, coursing oʼer the sloping meadow,
Strong was the light, and deep the shadow.
Till, rustling through the pine‐trees tall,
Came quick the sound of raindrop‐fall.
Fast increased, the leafy rattle
Spoke the coming tempest‐battle. b
Cold and lifeless, bald and bare;
Though with banners decked of old,
Ivy tendrilsʼ flickering flare
Are the only banners there.
Thou wouldst start to hear thy tread
Given back by echoes dead!
Thou wouldst look around to see
If a sprite were watching thee!
Yet a vision would come oʼer thee
Of the scenes had past before thee;—
Of the time when many a guest
Blessed the baron for his feast;
When the peasant, homeward stealing,—
Dusky night the hills concealing—
Heard the swell of wassail wild,
Cadence from the castle coming,
Mingling with the night‐breeze humming;
And, until the morning mild
Lightened upon wall and tower,
Beacon‐light from hour to hour
Streaming from the windows tall
Of the baronsʼ ancient hall:
Where the shout around was ringing,
And the troubadour was singing
Ancient air and ancient rhyme—
Legend of the ancient time:—
Of some knightʼs blood, nobly spilt
In the melée or the tilt;—
Of the deeds of some brave band,
Oath‐bound in the Holy Land,
Such as iron Richard led,
Steeled without and steeled within,—
True in hand and heart and head,
Worthy foes of Saladin. 4
Or, if pleased, a darker theme;—
Of spectres huge, at twilight seen
Above some battle‐field,
Mimicking with motion dread
Past combat of those lying dead
Beneath their cloudy pinions spread—
Crested helm, and spear, and shield,
In the red cloud blazonèd.
Oft the huge halls rang with glee;
All reckless of the withering woe
Reigned in their dungeons dank below,
Where, in the lone hoursʼ sullen flight,
The masked day mingled with the night;
Until the captiveʼs practised eye
Could pierce the thick obscurity—
Could see his fetters glance, or tell
The stones which walled his narrow cell:
Till, at the time the warder came,
His dusky lampʼs half‐smothered flame
Flashed on him like that sun whose ray,
And all the smile of lightsome day,
He has almost forgotten.