Explore "The Pilgrims of the Rhine" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Eno'! -- my song is closing, and to thee, / Land of the North, I dedicate its lay; / As I have done the simple tale to be / The drama of this prelude!
Farawa / Rolls the swift Rhine beneath the starry ray; / But to my ear its haunted waters sigh; / Its moonlight mountains glimmer on my eye; / On wave, on marge, as on a wizard's glass, / Imperial ghosts in dim procession pass; / Lords of the wild, the first great Father-men, / Their fane the hill-top, and their home the glen; / Frowning they fade; a bridge of steel appears / With frank-eyed Caesar smiling through the spears; / The march moves onwards, and the mirror brings / The Gothic crowns of Carlovingian kings / Vanished alike! The Hermit rears his Cross, / And barbs neigh shrill, and plumes in tumult toss, / While (knighthood's sole sweet conquest from the Moor) / Sings to Arabian lutes the Tourbadour.