Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III Keeping festival in Ardenne, a romance. St. Alban's Abbey, a metrical tale; With some poetical pieces. By Anne Radcliffe ... To which is prefixed: A memoir of the author, with extracts from her journals. In four volumes |
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ON ASCENDING A HILL CROWNED WITH A CONVENT.
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 | Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III |  |
185
ON ASCENDING A HILL CROWNED WITH A CONVENT.
NEAR BONN.
Up the mossed steeps of this round hill we climbed,
Tracking amid close woods our doubtful way;
When, high above, the lonely vesper chimed
On the still hour of the declining day.
We paused to listen, and to taste awhile
The pure air scented with the bruised herb;
And catch the distant landscape's parting smile,
Ere the light breeze the shadowy boughs disturbed.
“Oh verdant foliage! in your dancing play,
Hide not those soft blue lines, that northward swell,
And of far mountain-regions faintly tell!
Wrap not in your high shades those turrets grey,
That rear themselves above the Rhine's broad flood,
Where the slow bark, with wide, out-stretched wings,
Her lengthening shadow o'er the waters flings.”
Onward we pass amid the closing wood,
Till, once again emerging from the night,
O'er a near ridge of darkest pine we spy
The peaks of eastward mountains, peering high;
Touched with gay colours and with sunshine bright,
They draw clear lines on the transparent sky,
And lift their many-tinctured forms of light!
Tracking amid close woods our doubtful way;
When, high above, the lonely vesper chimed
On the still hour of the declining day.
We paused to listen, and to taste awhile
The pure air scented with the bruised herb;
And catch the distant landscape's parting smile,
Ere the light breeze the shadowy boughs disturbed.
“Oh verdant foliage! in your dancing play,
Hide not those soft blue lines, that northward swell,
And of far mountain-regions faintly tell!
Wrap not in your high shades those turrets grey,
186
Where the slow bark, with wide, out-stretched wings,
Her lengthening shadow o'er the waters flings.”
Onward we pass amid the closing wood,
Till, once again emerging from the night,
O'er a near ridge of darkest pine we spy
The peaks of eastward mountains, peering high;
Touched with gay colours and with sunshine bright,
They draw clear lines on the transparent sky,
And lift their many-tinctured forms of light!
With weary step a convent's porch we found.
What music met us on that holy ground,
Swelling the song of peace and praise to Him,
Who clad with glory all the prospect round!
Our full hearts echoed back the grateful hymn.
A turret's utmost height at length we gain,
And stand as on a point above the world,
Viewing the heaven's vast canopy unfurled,
And the great circle's widely-spreading line
Sink low, and softly into light decline.
There, in far distance, on the western plain,
Thy spires, Cologne, gleamed to the setting ray:
Thy useless ramparts and thy turrets grey
Hinted where still the cowled city lay.
Oh melancholy walls! unlike the view,
That the sweet poet of Vauclusa drew,
When, wreathed with flowers, thy maidens fair advance,
With choral songs and steps of airy dance,
And to the Rhine's fleet wave, on summer's eve,
Their blooming garlands and their sorrows give.
How changed the scene! Now paler forms appear,
Wrapt in black garments and with brow severe;
And, as with shaded eyes they stalk along,
Receive poor homage from the passing throng.
Oh melancholy walls! always, as now,
Be seen at distance on the landscape's brow!
What music met us on that holy ground,
Swelling the song of peace and praise to Him,
Who clad with glory all the prospect round!
Our full hearts echoed back the grateful hymn.
A turret's utmost height at length we gain,
And stand as on a point above the world,
Viewing the heaven's vast canopy unfurled,
And the great circle's widely-spreading line
Sink low, and softly into light decline.
187
Thy spires, Cologne, gleamed to the setting ray:
Thy useless ramparts and thy turrets grey
Hinted where still the cowled city lay.
Oh melancholy walls! unlike the view,
That the sweet poet of Vauclusa drew,
When, wreathed with flowers, thy maidens fair advance,
With choral songs and steps of airy dance,
And to the Rhine's fleet wave, on summer's eve,
Their blooming garlands and their sorrows give.
188
Wrapt in black garments and with brow severe;
And, as with shaded eyes they stalk along,
Receive poor homage from the passing throng.
Oh melancholy walls! always, as now,
Be seen at distance on the landscape's brow!
That stretching landscape various shades o'erspread,
Of yellow corn and bowery vineyards green;
There the brown orchard reared its tufted head,
And there the Rhine's long-winding light was seen,
With castles crowned was its rocky shore,
And famed for dismal tales in early lore.
Northward, the far Westphalian lands withdrew,
Line above line, in level tints of blue;
While to the West, where forest hills extend,
The long perspective lifts a pomp of shade,
Mellowed with evening lights, where sweetly blend
Convents and spires, as if for peace-marks made.
Such were the scenes, that from the falling sun,
(When he his bright and blessed course had run)
Threw their long shadows, mourners of past day,
And then in stillness slept beneath his ray.
But other scenes a holier homage paid,
Where, eastward, pointing up the heavenly way,
Above the thunder's cloud and cloud of Time,
Those everlasting mountains stand sublime,
And to the sun's Creator lift the head!
Steadfast upon the Rhine's tumultuous shore,
Ye listened, Mountains, to the distant roar,
The battle-shout of nations now no more.
Ye viewed the suns of centuries go down,
And smiled, as now, beneath their farewell beam;
Ye saw the thunder-storms of ages gleam,
The elemental and the human frown,
And heard afar the mingled strife pass by
Into the silence of Eternity!
Unchanged amid the ever-changing scene,
As in the world's first dawn, ye still appear,
With beauty bright, majestic, young, serene,
Clothed in the colours of the various year.
While rainbow-colours indistinctly lay
On the lone summits, till, in slow decay,
They seemed like far-hung clouds on Evening's pall,
Just purpled with a melancholy ray;
While dark we saw the mountain-shadows fall,
And steal the valleys and the woods away!
Then all in paleness came the twilight-star,
And, pensive, seemed to bend upon the West;
As though she watched th' expiring sun afar,
And bade, with tearful smile, his spirit rest!
Oh! then how sweetly and how solemn rose
The requiem-strains, that, in the parting hour,
Beneath the sacred roof responses pour;
While all without was hushed in deep repose.
The air's soft breathings scarce were heard to die,
Save when among the braided vines it crept,
And waked the quivering tendril with its sigh.
Thus earth and air their hour of slumber kept!
All but the stars! Slumbering too long in light,
They now through shade their opening eyes reveal,
In trembling glances, to their empress—Night,
Keeping high watch till forth the Morning steal,
From adverse darkness. Self-supported, great,
Ye, tranquil 'mid the louring storms of fate,
Rise, like the honest mind, in the dread hour,
When stern Adversity tries Virtue's power:—
Thus ye, distinguished through the fearful gloom,
A steadfast strength and brighter mien assume.
Thus, 'mid the changing lights, that life pervade,
May we, like you, assailing clouds dispel—
Grateful in sunshine—steadfast in the shade!
Farewell! ye awful monitors, farewell!
Of yellow corn and bowery vineyards green;
There the brown orchard reared its tufted head,
And there the Rhine's long-winding light was seen,
With castles crowned was its rocky shore,
And famed for dismal tales in early lore.
Northward, the far Westphalian lands withdrew,
Line above line, in level tints of blue;
While to the West, where forest hills extend,
189
Mellowed with evening lights, where sweetly blend
Convents and spires, as if for peace-marks made.
Such were the scenes, that from the falling sun,
(When he his bright and blessed course had run)
Threw their long shadows, mourners of past day,
And then in stillness slept beneath his ray.
But other scenes a holier homage paid,
Where, eastward, pointing up the heavenly way,
Above the thunder's cloud and cloud of Time,
Those everlasting mountains stand sublime,
And to the sun's Creator lift the head!
Steadfast upon the Rhine's tumultuous shore,
Ye listened, Mountains, to the distant roar,
The battle-shout of nations now no more.
Ye viewed the suns of centuries go down,
And smiled, as now, beneath their farewell beam;
Ye saw the thunder-storms of ages gleam,
The elemental and the human frown,
And heard afar the mingled strife pass by
Into the silence of Eternity!
Unchanged amid the ever-changing scene,
As in the world's first dawn, ye still appear,
190
Clothed in the colours of the various year.
While rainbow-colours indistinctly lay
On the lone summits, till, in slow decay,
They seemed like far-hung clouds on Evening's pall,
Just purpled with a melancholy ray;
While dark we saw the mountain-shadows fall,
And steal the valleys and the woods away!
Then all in paleness came the twilight-star,
And, pensive, seemed to bend upon the West;
As though she watched th' expiring sun afar,
And bade, with tearful smile, his spirit rest!
Oh! then how sweetly and how solemn rose
The requiem-strains, that, in the parting hour,
Beneath the sacred roof responses pour;
While all without was hushed in deep repose.
The air's soft breathings scarce were heard to die,
Save when among the braided vines it crept,
And waked the quivering tendril with its sigh.
Thus earth and air their hour of slumber kept!
All but the stars! Slumbering too long in light,
They now through shade their opening eyes reveal,
In trembling glances, to their empress—Night,
Keeping high watch till forth the Morning steal,
191
Ye, tranquil 'mid the louring storms of fate,
Rise, like the honest mind, in the dread hour,
When stern Adversity tries Virtue's power:—
Thus ye, distinguished through the fearful gloom,
A steadfast strength and brighter mien assume.
Thus, 'mid the changing lights, that life pervade,
May we, like you, assailing clouds dispel—
Grateful in sunshine—steadfast in the shade!
Farewell! ye awful monitors, farewell!
Petrarch notices this ceremony in one of his letters. “The sun was declining: and scarcely was I alighted, when these unknown friends brought me to the bank of the Rhine, to amuse me with a spectacle which is exhibited every year, on the same day, and on the same place. They conducted me to a little hill, from whence I could discover all that passed along the river. An innumerable company of women covered its banks: their air, their faces, their dress struck me ------ In the midst of the vast crowd this sight had drawn together, I was surprised to find neither tumult nor confusion; a great joy appeared without licentiousness. How pleasant was it to behold these women; their heads crowned with flowers, their sleeves tucked up above their elbows, with a sprightly air advancing to wash their hands and arms in the river. They pronounced something in their language, which appeared pleasing, but I did not understand it. Happily, I found an interpreter at hand; I desired one who came with me to explain to me this ceremony. He told me it was an ancient opinion spread among the people, and particularly the women, that this lustration was necessary to remove all the calamities with which human beings are threatened in the course of the year; and, when this was done, they had nothing to fear till the following year, at which time the ceremony must be renewed.”
| Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III | |