I send the lilies given to me-- Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must withered be, But yet reject them not as such; For I have cherished them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, And offered from my heart to thine! 4. The river nobly foams and flows-- The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round: The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Through life to dwell delighted here; Nor could on earth a spot be found To Nature and to me so dear-- Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! LVI. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple Pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are Heroes' ashes hid-- Our enemy's--but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early tomb[is] Tears, big tears, gushed from the rough soldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. LVII. Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career,-- His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes; And fitly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his gallant Spirit's bright repose;-- For he was Freedom's Champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstept[307] The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons; he had kept The whiteness of his soul--and thus men o'er him wept.[11.B.] LVIII. Here Ehrenbreitstein,[12.B.] with her shattered wall Black with the miner's blast, upon her height Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball Rebounding idly on her strength did light:-- A Tower of Victory! from whence the flight Of baffled foes was watched along the plain: But Peace destroyed what War could never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain-- On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.[308] LIX. Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted The stranger fain would linger on his way! Thine is a scene alike where souls united Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey[it] On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere,[iu] Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year.[309] LX.