Now from the smiling afternoon 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.—
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But a moment:—darkly down
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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
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 thʼ horizon sweeping. Flinging far its cloudy spray, Oʼer the peaceful heaven beating.
Then around, the reddening sun Gathered, throwing darkness dun On the ruinʼs ghostly wall,— Then between the pine‐trees tall, Came quick the sound of raindrop fall.
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;
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,—
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.
Thus with feast and revelry 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.