Days pass'd away—and Rhine's fair shore,
In the light of summer smil'd once more;
The vines were purpling on the hill,
And the corn-fields wav'd in the sunshine still;
There came a bark up the noble stream,
With pennons that shed a golden gleam,
With the flash of arms, and the voice of song,
Gliding triumphantly along;
For warrior-forms were glittering there,
Whose plumes wav'd light in the whispering air;
And as the tones of oar and wave
Their measur'd cadence mingling gave,
'Twas thus th' exulting chorus rose,
While many an echo swell'd the close.
From the fields where dead and dying,
On their battle-bier are lying,
Where the blood unstaunch'd is gushing,
Where the steed uncheck'd is rushing,
Trampling o'er the noble-hearted,
Ere the spirit yet be parted,
Where each breath of heaven is swaying,
Knightly plumes and banners playing,
And the clarion's music swelling,
Calls the vulture from his dwelling;
He comes, with trophies worthy of his line,
The son of heroes, Ulric of the Rhine!
To his own fair woods, enclosing
Vales in sunny peace reposing,
Where his native stream is laving
Banks, with golden harvests waving,
And the summer-light is sleeping
On the grape, through tendrils peeping:
