Уильям Лайл Боулз (William Lisle Bowles)

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.