The Rhine

`Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain`s brow
(Hung with the clusters of the bending vine)
Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine
We bounded, and the white waves round the prow
In murmurs parted: varying as we go,
Lo! the woods open, and the rocks retire,
As some gray convent-wall or glistening spire
`Mid the bright landscape`s track unfolding slow!
Here dark, with furrowed aspect, like despair,
Frowns the bleak cliff! There on the woodland`s side
The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide;
Whilst hope, enchanted with the scene so fair,
Counts not the hours of a long summer`s day,
Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away.

(William Lisle Bowles)


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