Bayard Taylor

“ No river in Europe has such an association connected with it. We think of the Danube, for its majesty, of the Rhine, for its wild beauty, but of the Seine—for its blood!
In coming thus to the last famed stream I shall visit in Europe, I might say, with Barry Cornwall:
"We've sailed through banks of green, Where the wild waves fret and quiver; And we've down the Danube been— The dark, deep, thundering river! We've thridded the Elbe and Rhone, The Tiber and blood dyed Seine, And we've been where the blue Garonne Goes laughing to meet the main!" ”

“ Our ship climbs onward o'er the lifted waves, That gather up in ridges, mountain-high, And like a sea-god, conscious in his power, Buffets the surges. Storm-arousing winds That sweep, unchecked, from frozen Labrador, Make wintry music through the creaking shrouds. Th' horizon's ring, that clasps the dreary view, Lays mistily upon the gray Atlantic's breast. Shut out, at times, by bulk of sparry blue, That, rolling near us, heaves the swaying prow High on its shoulders, to descend again Ploughing a thousand cascades, and around Spreading the frothy foam. ”

“ OF POWERS. A faultless being from the marble sprung, She stands in beauty there! As when the grace of Eden 'round her clung— Fairest, where all was fair! Pure, as when first from God's creating hand She came, on man to shine; So seems she now, in living stone to stand— A mortal, yet divine! The spark the Grecian from Olympus caught, Left not a loftier trace; The daring of the sculptor's hand has wrought A soul in that sweet face! He won as well the sacred fire from heaven. God-sent, not stolen down, And no Promethean doom for him is given, But ages of renown! ”

“ Shall Faith and Freedom vainly call, And Gmunden's warrior-herdsmen fall On the red field in vain? No! from the throng that back retired, A student boy sprang forth inspired, And while his words their bosoms fired, Led on the charge again! "And thus your free arms would ye give So tamely to a tyrant's band, And with the hearts of vassals live In this, your chainless land? The emerald lake is spread below, And tower above, the hills of snow— Here, field and forest lie; This land, so glorious and so free— Say, shall it crushed and trodden be? ”

“ I never was more impressed with the grandeur of human invention, than when ascending the dome. I could with difficulty conceive the means by which such a mighty edifice had been lifted into the air. That small frame of Sir Christopher Wren must have contained a mind capable of vast conceptions. The dome is like the summit of a mountain; so wide is the prospect, and so great the pile upon which you stand. London lay beneath us, like an ant-hill, with the black insects swarming to and fro in their long avenues, the sound of their employments coming up like the roar of the sea. ”

“ Sometimes a fine old forest grew along the summit, like a mane waving back from the curved neck of a steed, and white villages lay coiled in the valleys between. A line of blue mountains always closed the vista, on looking down one of these long valleys; occasionally a ruined castle with donjon tower, was seen on a mountain at the side, making the picture complete. As we lay sometimes on the hillside and looked on one of those sweet vales, we were astonished at its Arcadian beauty. The meadows were as smooth as a mirror, and there seemed to be scarcely a grass-blade out of place. ”

“ As we gazed, a purple glow lay on the bosom of the sea, while far beyond the city, the eastern half of the mountain crescent around the gulf was tinted with the loveliest hue of orange. The impressions which one derives from looking on remarkable scenery, depend, for much of their effect, on the time and weather. I have been very fortunate in this respect in two instances, and shall carry with me through life, two glorious pictures of a very different character—the wild sublimity of the Brocken in cloud and storm, and the splendor of Genoa in an Italian sunset. ”

“ The latter tree, in its first foliage, is most delicate and beautiful. Every bough is like a long ostrich plume, and when one of them stands among the dark pines, it seems so light and airy that the wind might carry it away. Just opposite Herzberg, the Hartz stands in its gloomy and mysterious grandeur, and I went to sleep with the pleasant thought that an hour's walk on the morrow would shut me up in its deep recesses.
The next morning I entered them. The road led up a narrow mountain valley, down which a stream was rushing—on all sides were magnificent forests of pine. ”

“ On the Neckar below us, the fishermen glide about in their boats, sink their square nets fastened to a long pole, and haul them up with the glittering fish, of which the stream is full. I often lean out of the window late at night, when the mountains above are wrapped in dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical ripple of the river. It tells to my excited fancy a knightly legend of the old German time. Then comes the bell, rung for closing the inns, breaking the spell with its deep clang, which vibrates far away on the night air, till it has roused all the echoes of the Odenwald. ”

“ Say, would ye rather bend the knee Than for its freedom die? "Look! yonder stand in mid-day's glare The everlasting Alps of snow, And from their peaks a purer air Breathes o'er the vales below! The Traun his brow is bent in pride— He brooks no craven on his side— Would ye be fettered then? There lifts the Sonnenstein his head, There chafes the Traun his rocky bed And Aurach's lovely vale is spread— Look on them and be men! "Let, like a trumpet's sound of fire, These stir your souls to manhood's part— The glory of the Alps inspire Each yet unconquered heart! ”

“ The sunbeam of another mind lingers on the spot. See how it gilds the ruined and neglected fount!
"The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose wild, green margin, now no more erase Art's works; no more its sparkling waters sleep, Prisoned in marble; bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap, The rill runs o'er, and 'round, fern, flowers and ivy creep, Fantastically tangled." ”

“ A faint glow still lingered over the forest-hills, but down in the valley the dusky shades hid every vestige of life, though its sounds came up softened through the long space. When we reached the top a bright planet stood like a diamond over the brow of the eastern hill, and the sound of a twilight bell came up clearly and sonorously on the cool damp air. The white veil of mist slowly descended down the mountain side, but the peaks rose above it like the wrecks of a world, floating in space. We made our way in the dusk down the long path, to the rude little dorf of Elsbach. ”

“ It is absolutely bewildering to walk through such vast collections; you can do no more than glance at each painting, and hurry by face after face, and figure after figure, on which you would willingly gaze for hours and inhale the atmosphere of beauty that surrounds them. Then after you leave, the brain is filled with their forms—radiant spirit-faces look upon you, and you see constantly, in fancy, the calm brow of a Madonna, the sweet young face of a child, or the blending of divine with mortal beauty in an angel's countenance. ”

“ Near the gate on the road to Pavia, we passed a long colonnade which was certainly as old as the times of the Romans. The pillars of marble were quite brown with age, and bound together with iron to keep them from falling to pieces. It was a striking contrast to see this relic of the past standing in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare and surrounded by all the brilliance and display of modern trade.
Once fairly out of the city we took the road to Pavia, along the banks of the canal, just as the rising sun gilded the marble spire of the Duomo. ”

“ Content to tread awhile the holy steps Of Art and Genius, sacred through all time, The spirit breathed that dull, oppressive air— Which, freighted with its tyrant-clouds, o'erweighs The upward throb of many a nation's soul— Amid those olden memories, felt the thrall. But kept the birth-right of its freer home, Here, on the world's blue highway, comes again The voice of Freedom, heard amid the roar Of sundered billows, while above the wave Rise visions of the forest and the stream. Like trailing robes the morning mists uproll, Torn by the mountain pines ”

“ And what if I feel a new inspiration on beholding the scene? Now that those ages have swept by, like the red waves of a tide of blood, we see not the darkened earth, but the golden sands which the flood has left behind. Besides, I have come from a new world, where the spirit of man is untrammeled by the mouldering shackles of the past, but in its youthful and joyous freedom, goes on to make itself a noble memory for the ages that are to come!
Then there is the Wolfsbrunnen, which one reaches by a beautiful walk up the bank of the Neckar, to a quiet dell in the side of the mountain. ”

“ The stately Thames curves through the plain below, which loses itself afar off in the mist; Greenwich, with its massive hospital, lies just at one's feet, and in a clear day the domes of London skirt the horizon. The wood of the Park is entirely oak—the majestic, dignified, English oak—which covers, in picturesque clumps, the sides and summits of the two billowy hills. It must be a sweet place in summer, when the dark, massive foliage is heavy on every mossy arm, and the smooth and curving sward shines with thousands of field-flowers. ”

“ Paul's is on a scale of grandeur excelling every thing I have yet seen. The dome seems to stand in the sky, as you look up to it; the distance from which you view it, combined with the atmosphere of London, give it a dim, shadowy appearance, that perfectly startles one with its immensity. The roof from which the dome springs is itself as high as the spires of most other churches—blackened for two hundred years with the coal-smoke of London, it stands like a relic of the giant architecture of the early world. The interior is what one would expect to behold, after viewing the outside. ”

“ A stream of considerable size comes down the mountain, leaping from crag to crag till within forty or fifty feet of the bottom, where it is caught in a hollow rock, and flung upwards into the air, forming a beautiful arch as it falls out into the valley. As it is whirled up thus, feathery curls of spray are constantly driven off and seem to wave round it like the fibres on an ostrich plume. The sun shining through, gave it a sparry brilliance which was perfectly magnificent. If I were an artist, I would give much for such a new form of beauty. ”

“ Above the deep glen that curves into the mountain, stands the beautiful temple of the Sybil—a building of the most perfect and graceful proportion. It crests the "rocky brow" like a fairy dwelling, and looks all the lovelier for the wild caverns below. Gazing downward from the bridge, one sees the waters of the Anio tumbling into the picturesque grotto of the Sirens; around a rugged corner, a cloud of white spray whirls up continually, while the boom of a cataract rumbles down the glen. All these we marked in the deepening dusk, and then hunted an albergo. ”

“ The beautiful limbs of the boy-god droop in the repose of slumber, as his head rests on his mother's knee, and there is a smile lingering around his half-parted lips, as if he was dreaming new triumphs. The face is not that of the wicked, mischief-loving child, but rather a sweet cherub, bringing a blessing to all he visits. The figure of the goddess is exquisite. Her countenance, unearthly in its loveliness, expresses the tenderness of a young mother, as she sits with one finger pressed on her rosy lip, watching his slumber. ”

“ Yet not more dear the opening dawn of heaven Poured on the earth in an Italian May, When souls take wings upon the scented air Of starry meadows, and the yearning heart Pains with deep sweetness in the balmy time, Than these gray morns, and days of misty blue, And surges, never-ceasing;—for our prow Points to the sunset like a morning ray, And o'er the waves, and through the sweeping storms, Through day and darkness, rushes ever on, Westward and westward still! What joy can send The spirit thrilling onward with the wind, In untamed exultation, like the thought That fills the Homeward Bound? ”

“ Those streets below had echoed with the fiery words of Huss, and the castle of his follower—the blind Ziska, who met and defeated the armies of the German Empire—moulders on the mountain above. Many a year of war and tempest has passed over the scene. The hills around have borne the armies of Wallenstein and Frederic the Great; the war-cry of Bavaria, Sweden and Poland has echoed in the valley, and the red glare of the midnight cannon or the flames of burning palaces have often gleamed along the "blood-dyed waters" of the Moldau! ”

“ His Italian landscapes have that golden mellowness and transparency of atmosphere which give such a charm to the real scenes, and one would think he used on his pallette, in addition to the more substantial colors, condensed air and sunlight and the liquid crystal of streams. He has wooed Nature like a lover, and she has not withheld her sympathy. She has taught him how to raise and curve her trees, load their boughs with foliage, and spread underneath them the broad, cool shadows—to pile up the shattered crag, and steep the long mountain range in the haze of alluring distance. ”

“ It is another of those works of that divine artist, on which we gaze and gaze with a never-tiring enjoyment of its angelic beauty. To my eye it is faultless; I could not wish a single outline of form, a single shade of color changed. Like his unrivalled Madonna in the Dresden Gallery, its beauty is spiritual as well as earthly; and while gazing on the glorious countenance of the Jesus-child, I feel an impulse I can scarcely explain—a longing to tear it from the canvas as if it were a breathing form, and clasp it to my heart in a glow of passionate love. ”