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.