Forth the Devourer, scale by scale,
Uncoiled the folds of his steel-proof mail,
Stretching his throat, and stretching his tail,
And hither and thither rolling him o'er,
Till he covered four-score feet and four
Of the wearied and wailing ground.
And at last he raised from his stony bed
The horrors of his speckled head;
Up, like a comet, the meteor went,
And seemed to shake the firmament,
And batter heaven's own walls!
For many a long mile, well I ween,
The fires that shot from those eyes were seen;
The Burschen of Bonn, if Bonn had been,
Would have shuddered in their halls.
Woe for the Virgin !-bootless here
Were gleaming shield, and whistling spear,
Such battle to abide ;
The mightiest engines that ever the trade
Of human homicide hath made,
Warwolf, balist, and catapult,
Would like a stripling's lath insult
That adamantine hide.
Woe for the Virgin !—
Hath scattered the darkness, and silenced the yell,
And quenched those fiery showers?—
Why turns the Serpent from his prey?
The Cross hath barred his terrible way,
The Cross, among the flowers.
As an eagle pierced on his cloudy throne,
As a column rent from its base of stone,
Backward the stricken Monster dropped;
Never he stayed and never he stopped,
Till deep in the gushing tide he sank,
And buried lay beneath the stream,
Passing away like a loathsome dream.
Well may you guess, how either bank
As with an earthquake shook ;
The mountains rocked from brow to base;
The river boiled with a hideous din,
As the burning mass fell heavily in;
And the wide, wide Rhine, for a moment's space,
Was scorched into a brook.
Night passed, ere the multitude dared to creep,
Huddled together, up the steep;
They came to the stone-in speechless awe
They fell on their face at the sight they saw:
The maiden was free from hurt or harm,-
But the iron had passed from her neck and arm,
And the glittering links of the shivered chain
Lay scattered about like drops of rain!
And deem ye that the rescued child
To her father-land would come,-
That the remnant of her kindred smiled
Around her, in her home,—
And that she lived in love of earth,
Among earth's smiles and tears,
And gave God thanks for the daily birth
Of blessings in after years?—
Holy and happy, she turned not away
From the task her Saviour set that day ;-
What was her kindred, her home, to her?-
She had been heaven's own messenger!
Short time went by from that dread hour
Of manifested wrath and power,
Ere from the cliff a little shrine
Looked down upon the rolling Rhine.
Duly the virgin Priestess there,
Led day by day the hymn and prayer,
And the dark Heathen round her pressed,
To know their Maker, and be blessed!
TO THE COUNTESS VON C, BONN.
THIS is the Legend of the Drachenfels,—
Sweet theme, most feebly sung :—and yet to me My feeble song is grateful; for it tells
Of far-off smiles and voices.-Though it be Unmeet, fair Lady, for thy breast or bower, Yet thou wilt wear, for thou didst plant, the flower.
It had been worthier of such birth and death,
If it had bloomed where thou hadst watched its rise, Fanned by the zephyr of thy fragrant breath,
Warmed by the sunshine of thy gentle eyes And cherished by the love, in whose pure shade No evil thing can live, no good thing fade.
It will be long ere thou wilt shed again
Thy praise or censure on my childish lays,— Thy praise, which makes me happy more than vain; Thy censure, kinder than another's praise. Huge mountains frown between us; and the swell Of the loud sea is mocking my farewell.
Yet not the less, dear Friend, thy guiding light
Shines through the secret chambers of my thought; Or when I waken, with revived delight,
The lute young Fancy to my cradle brought,
Or when I visit, with a studious brow,
The less-loved task, to which I turn me now.
Was there no grave in habitable realm
That hither we have wandered, to the tomb
Of nature, where the mountains overwhelm
In pendulous horror the dread gulf of doom ;
A wilderness of ruin without bound,
Lonelier than loneliness, of sterner gloom
Than tempest-laden midnight?—Not a sound
Nor sight of life-the silence of despair,
The solitude of death;-what fiend hath frowned,
What imprecation blasted earth and air,
That never plant may spring, nor sun may shine?
Peace, peace, infirm of faith: Jehovah's care
Is over all and everywhere the shrine
Of wakeful Providence, and love divine.
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