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HEIDELBERG—9 P.M. TO 10 P.M. · Around the Clock in Europe : A Travel Sequence

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Section nine of Around the Clock in Europe a Travel Sequence. This is a
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LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
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or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox Doddle red by Beeswax Candle Around the Clock
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in Europe A Travel Sequence by Charles fish Howell, Heidelberg, nine p m
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to ten p m. There stands an ancient castle on yonder mountain height,
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where fenced with door and portal, once tarried steed and night begone a door
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and portal, and all is hushed and still oh ruined wall and rafter I
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clamber as I will Girta's castle on the mountain, when the sun has gone
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down behind the blue Alsatian mountains, and the last stain of color is faded
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from the skies of the Rhenish plain. When clocktower has answered clocktower, an
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evening bell responded to evening bell from the mountain, and streams in the mill
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wheels of the old and vault to the busy squares of Mannheim and the quiet
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and gentle valley of the nechar takes on a peculiar piece in glory that is
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exquisite and marvelous and Heidelberg and its lordly ruins seem set in a veritable fairy
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ring of delicate charm and beauty. So tranquil and lovely is this region in
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the early evening that even the latest comer soon feels a comforting sense of having
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turned aside from out of the rush and fever of life, into a singularly
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placid and protected corner of the earth, a hushed and happy vale of temper.
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The sense of rest and seclusion is one of Heidelberg's strongest appeals, and
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her appeals, though few, are all emphatic, for there are no sights
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here the castle excepted the quaint old town is friendly and genial, though not
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more so than many others of this comfortable German fatherland, and nor is the
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Sura nechA so exceptional as to occasion pilgrimage. Hadelberg's appeals are to the mind,
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the heart, and the senses. The mind is inspired by her impressive
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achievements in learning, the heart is touched by her tragic history, and the
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senses are spell bound by the exceptional charm of her natural beauty. She is
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never so fair as in the early evening, with the soft fall of night.
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Each blemish fades away, and what remains to see and feel is altogether
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rare and lovely. When the valley clocks are booming nine with muffled strokes,
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it is delightful to be up in the castle's ruins, lounging on the great
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balcony as the crumbling Friederic palace, with a broad coping for a seat,
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and the rustling ivy of the hollow walls for a pillow. Behind and about
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one is the vast ruddy wreckage of the nightly halls and towers of this far
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famed a lumber of Germany, and fluttering plains of tree tops are billowing upward
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on every hand, to the dark heights of the Kernig Stewed on the opposite
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side of the valley. Across the river, dense forests of oak and chestnut
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glitter in the moonlight, sweeping aloft to the summit of the storied Saint's Mountain.
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Just below our balcony, the clustered spires and steep roofs of the huddled
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old town House, their fifty thousand happy people, between the wooded hillsides and
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the shimmering neckar that bans the middle distance on its placid rhine journey, like
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a silver ribbon on a velvet cloak. In its bright waters, hills and
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trees are luminously mirrored, along with the inky, motionless shadows of its bridge,
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and the sober reflections of shuttered house fronts along its verge. In the
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dewy coolness and the still of the evening, the guardian oaks breathe a recurrent
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lullaby, now softly agitated, now as hushed and ghostly and motionless as the
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hills in which they are rooted, And one understands how such a soothing environment
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could have softened even the impetuous, fiery, war loving young kerner to indict
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so gentle a benediction as his beautiful good night, good night, to which
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weary toil worn white. Now the day so sweetly closes, every aching brow
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reposes peacefully till morning light good night home to rest, close the eye and
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calm. The breast stillness through the streets is stealing, and the watchman's horn
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is pealing, and the night calls softly haste home to rest up in the
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castle ruins. One is seldom alone after midnight, and not even then,
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as the melancholy specter of Rupert's tower is disposed to walk abroad. In the
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early evening, the good people of Heidelberg, the kindliest and most contented of
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Germans, stroll with vast light under the lindens of the castle gardens, and
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groups of careless students loiter mirrorely along the terraces, adding bright touches of color
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with their peaked caps and broad core ribbons. Bits of song and bursts of
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laughter give a homely suggestion of habitation to these staring walls. One could fancy
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the dead and gone old nobles at wassail again, with minstrels in the banquet
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hall, and perkeo the jesters whispering jokes in the ears of the count Palatine.
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Under the tree tops, Sangirta is quiet. Now there is a low,
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sad sound of night breeze and the ivy. The swallow darts through a
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paneless window. A back zigzags among the echoing arches of a tower, like
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phantom sentinels. The stone statues of the old electors stand white and impressive in
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niches on the palace fronts. Fragrance of flowers drifts in from the castle gardens,
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and the delicate plash of falling water comes from a terrace fountain. The
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lamps of the city rim the river below, and villas beyond the farther bank
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are marked by tiny dots of light in the purple of the groves behind Neuenheim.
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Across the neckar Cut gulf of shadow, the chestnut crowned summit of the
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Heiligenberg stares down solemnly at us, and not all the songs of its blithest
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nightingales can banish thoughts of its ancient Roman sacrifices, nor divert the credulous from
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vigils over the blue grave, lights around the Benedictine cloister, where they buried
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the sainted Abbot of Herschall. Up through the dark billows of this tree top
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ocean rises a strain of Wagner's music from some cheery hidden woodland inn. And
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under the magic spell of the night, one could fancy the golden haired sea
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freed approaching on a new Rhine journey, following the wind in Neckar up the
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broad Rhenish plane, the tan hell Mazetta's belt, the world ward a ring
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on his finger, and the moonlight flashes dreadfully from the glittering blade of Noutung
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as the hero's horn wends notes of arrival under the walls of our stout castle
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and its Especially at such an hour as this, that one realizes how easy
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it is for the man who thoroughly knows Heidelberg to acknowledge a delightful and lifelong
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bondage. A large number of the most eminent literati of the world have agreed
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in this Gert ascribed to her ideal beauty. Macaulay pronounced her environment one of
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the fairest regions of Europe. The father of German poetry, Martin Opitz,
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loved her dearly in his student days here three centuries ago, and wrote affectionately
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of her all the rest of his life. The prolific Teak found time between
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novels to lament the destruction of a few of her oaks. Aloy Schreiber turned
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from his poetry and history to grieve over the loss of a lime tree.
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Von Scheffel praised her in prose and verse, and hailed her in seven Songs
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of his Guards. La Fontaine could not conceive a more ideal surroundings in which
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to reunite his Clara Duplessis and her devoted Claren G. P. R.
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James in his favorite romance Heidelberg, wrought prodigies of sentimentality here of the heroic
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Algernon Gray and the emotional Agnes Matheson, immortalized himself by his elegy in these
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ruins. All who have read Alexandre Duma's dramatic cream Sileebre will recall the young
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fanatic Carl Ludwigsand and his assassination of the poet Kotzube in our neighboring city of
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Mannheim. But they may not have heard of how Kotsubwe once said. If
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an unhappy individual were to ask me what spot to live and to get rid
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of the cares and sorrows which pursue him, I should say Heidelbert. And
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a happy one asks me what spotty would choose to adorn with fresh wreaths the
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joys of his life, I should still say Heidelberg. Gerta loved the Neckar
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and scarcely less its famous old bridge. In an interpretive mood, he once
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observed, the bridge shows itself in such beauty as is perhaps not to be
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equalled by any other in the world. And indeed it is an easy thing
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to divide enthusiasm between bridge and river. Nothing is jolly. Are then loafing
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against the broad balustrades of this solid, old veteran as the students love to
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do, and lazily take note to the river's tinted reflections, the ripple and
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eddy about the piers, the mirroring of the arches, and perfect reverse,
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and watch the deep green shadows of the hills creep out and steal across.
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Great rafts come down stream, laden with the output of the oldenbaudt and black
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forest, and swift steamers hurry under the massive arches, bound up stream for
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the mountain towns, or downward to Mannheim. Fairies ply beside it, fishermen
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drift beneath it, and throngs of townspeople and countrymen stroll along it with now
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and then a burpetticoata peasant girl from the oldenvat, whose fair hair is hidden
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underneath a huge black coif. How redolent it is of Rhenish life. One
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lingers beside the great statue of its builder, the old Elector, and gazes
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with unwearying satisfaction on the strange medieval gateway, loophold and port colourst and wonders
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where too, other such queer round towers can be found with such odd bell
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shaped capitals and such slender little spires. Terrible and tragic experiences have befallen the
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sturdy old Hero and its antique towers are pitted from the riddling of French and
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Swedish and German bullets. Fire has swept it, cannons shaken it, Floods
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grappled with it, and blood drenched it from shore to shore. One processions
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of famine stricken people have dragged themselves across its paving stones, and its gateways
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have re echoed with groans and prayers and curses. To night we see it
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as defiant as ever, battle scarred and unshaken, with head bloody but unbowed,
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striding its river with broad and shapely arches, as real a part of
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Heidelberg as the very hills above it. One looks down from the castle on
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the twinkling lights of the cramped old town and notes how it has ambitiously spread
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at suburbs even beyond the opposite bank, and that its villa lamps sprinkle their
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way in the distance toward that little hamlet with the great mouthful of a name,
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hunt Schulzheim. In the hills. It is there. Could we see
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it that the tumble down hut stands that sheltered Luther when he escape from the
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tile devils of Verms. At a side of it, one wonders if he
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did not exclaim here as it did at the Deer. Here, I take
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my stand. I can do no otherwise, God help me. In Heidelberg
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itself, the shops of that one long street Helpstrasse send up a wavering,
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crooked path of softened light. But the moore e wagan on Lager is discreetly
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reserved, with all its hotels and imposing homes. One distinguishes little at this
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hour of the peaked tile roofs and faded shutters of the venerable town, a
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little awning shops, somber cafes, steuben and restaurants, or the excited appearance
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of an occasional side street that starts with all enthusiasm at the river, loses
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heart in a block or two, and comes suddenly to a discouraged end in
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a tangle of trees and forest paths. We only know that Emperor William the
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first canters is bronze steed with its capacious girth along the middle of ludwicks Platz
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right up to the university building, where as celebrated professors had their readings before
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their frisky young biner Helen, and that the market place is probably as shabby
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and gloomy as usual. The corn marked subsided again to its customary listlessness,
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since the last of the evening crowds have taken the mountain railroads there for cool
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trips to the Kernigstud or the Molkenkur, or for a trout dinner at the
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distant Volfsbrun. Out of this cramped nest of roofs, the shadowy Gothic tower
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of Saint Peter's Church rises, boldly, challenging beholders to forget if they can.
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How Jerome of Prague once nailed his theses on its doors and defended them
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before excited multitudes, calling, besides, on the distant and indifferent to sometimes
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have a thought of the famous university scholars who lie under the weeping willows of
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its churchyard. A neighboring bidder for consideration, the famous Heiliggeistkercher thrusts a lofty
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spire skyward above the dark tree tops, till its weather vein is almost on
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a level with our feet. There is little need for this ecclesiastic to feel
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any apprehension on the score of being forgotten. So renowned has it been for
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half a thousand years, as once the foremost cathedral of the Palatinate, celebrated
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for richness of endowment, extent of revenues, the beauty of its art treasures,
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and the learning of its prebendaries. As it appeals to us to night,
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it is as one fallen far from its former high estate. And yet
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the very eagles that saw over Heidelberg must have enough knowledge of religious controversy to
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recall its past amusing dilemmas of divided orthodoxy. The stranger in the castle ruins
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will smile as he thinks of what he is read of the days when both
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Protestants and Catholics worshiped there at one and the same time. Through the effective
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device of a partition wall thrown up to separate choir from nave, the elaborate
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Catholic ceremonials of the altar necessitated the reservation of the choir for them, while
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the Protestants got on very nicely with the pulpit built at the end of the
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nave. What unusual entertainment might have been contrived by Neutrals to the controversy,
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had a brick or two been removed from the partition wall and an ear applied
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alternately to either servers on one side, ave maries and paternosters on the other.
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Hymns of the Lutherans here the wailing Confitiore and passionate agnes Day, and
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the triple sound of the acolyte's bell as the host is elevated above the kneeling
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praying throngs in the nave, A rapt absorption of the new significance of old
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truths and lengthy discourses by stern and ascetic expounders for one congregation, a glittering
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altar, sacred images, flaming candles, and a dured monstrance, stiff pews
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in a painted pulpit for the other. For the Catholics, flocks of priests
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in choirboys, deacons and subdeacons sumptuously vested an orb and stoled and gorgeous chasuble.
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For the Protestants, one solemn man in black Neutrals at the dividing wall
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could have rendered both congregations of service by loosening a brick or two and letting
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a little incense beauty pass to the dissenter's side, and some word of wisdom
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concerning a release from dogma get throat of the Catholics at America's new policy of
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church unity existed, then he would have advocated doing away with the wall altogether
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and finding some compromise for approaching a common God in a common way. Time
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the Great Umpire has settled the contest as a draw for the partition waters come
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out and the rival camps with it. The present occupants are old Catholics,
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a sect with which either side has little sympathy and less patience. The evening
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lounger in the old Castle will doubtless have more than one thought of the famous
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seat of learning that has for five and a quarter centuries invested the name of
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Heidelberg with so much luster and glory. He will of course have heard it
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called the cradle of Germanic science, and will have been told that of all
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Germanic universities, and who those at Prague and Vienna are older than this.
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He can form some conclusion as to its rich contributions to human knowledge by merely
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recalling the names of its famous scholars. Reuchlinn the Langthon, the Seness voss
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Helmholtz, Bunsen, Kunol Fisher, and the rest, and will gauge its
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present standing by the acknowledged eminence of its faculties in medicine, law, and
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philosophy. One thinks of its long eras of philosophic speculation, always deeply earnest,
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if not invariably profitable, and applauds the force of longfellows Simile and Hyperion
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when he compared them to roads in our western forests that are broad and pleasant
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at first, that eventually dwindled to a squirrel track and run up a tree.
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If the loiterer be a Presbyterian, he will want to acknowledge indebtedness to
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order Senus for that celebrated Heidelberg Catechism of three hundred and fifty years ago that
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supplied the Westminster Assembly with a model for the shorter Catechism in use to day.
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That the university has survived the destructive rigors of so many fierce wars is
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perhaps sufficient proof of its vitality and the estimate men have set on its usefulness.
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Tilley carried off its library and presented it at the Pope when he conquered
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Heidelberg in the Thirty Years War, but although only a small portion of it
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has ever been returned, it has today half a million volumes and documents,
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among which are original writings of Martin Luther and manuscripts of the Miniscingers. The
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pleasant summer semester attracts students here being allowed under the Frei height system to exchange
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Alma martyrs, and then one may count up perhaps two thousand scholastics transients in
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Heidelberg. To many visitors, the equipment will appear meager for accepting the main
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building in ludwigs Plats, the library building, medical institution and botanical gardens.
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There is little in sight to remind one of its existence in winness, of
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which there is the popular joke about a new arrival who inquired of a passer
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by where the university might be. Don't know was the reply or the student
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myself. The presence of the jovial student, however, is too much in
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evidence at this time of the evening, through distant shouts and songs, to
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leave any one in doubt about the university being somewhere hereabouts. But when are
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they not in evidence at any hour of the day and night, You come
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across them in the cafes, on the streets, loafing on the bridge,
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or upping the castle, or returning or departing on their favorite recreation of walking
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trips through the hills. Their smart peaked caps and broad core ribbons the scenic
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features of the neighborhood. You wonder when they study, and how much time
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they ever spend in the private rooms they call their vulneramen. In spite of
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the appearance of extreme hauteur conveyed by their invariable and ceremonious punctilio, these ruddy
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faced boys are highly sociable and take a prodigious delight in smoking, drinking,
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and singing together. A cafe concert is entirely to their liking, and even
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more a jolly cagil barn supper in some forest restaurant at the end of a
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long tramp, most of all which is amazing. They relish this dupit k
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Nipen, where every friendly draft of their weak beer is preceded by a challenge
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to drink, and where the only redeeming feature is the fine singing still that
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commerce. As one hears the time hodered fox chorus, what comes there from
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the hill, Even the pet vice of jeweling might be mildly defended on the
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ground that German students have no such athletic contests as their brothers of America in
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England, and that each looks to the sword in consequence as an arbiter of
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courage and prowess, from the Fuchsa who are freshmen, to the Burschen who
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are seniors. Granted that the occasional saber jewel is really dangerous, still injuries
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are trifling in the ordinary encounters. After Mensur fought with the thin basket hilted
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Schleger and preferably on the pulch burden of the famous hirsch Gasse tavern up the
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little valley across the River Blood Apart, it is rather amusing than otherwise to
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watch the contestants in their pads and goggles, the second straddling between them with
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drawn swords, and the callous umpire keeping merry count of the wounds. Few
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topas and bullies here, but vigorous, wholesome youth. The outlook from the
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grand balcony is upon a sea of foliage so vast as completely to surround castle
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gardens and terraces and convert them into just such an enchanted island as spring so
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naturally out of the pages of the Arabian nights, evidence of sorcery and magic
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multiplies. We make the rounds of our fortress, for voices and music come
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out of the tremulous green depths, and companion aisles emerge in the moonlit distance
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that lifted far above us, is set on prodigious wave shoulders of steadily increasing
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height. The loftiest of these rocks we know to be the famous kernig stoud
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A name there have vainly been trying to change to kaiser stud since the visit
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of Emperor Frances of Austria a hundred years ago and Emperor Alexandra of Russia.
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From the eerie perch, one looks abroad by day, and a very considerable
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portion of the wide, wide world. The distance covered is only limited by
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the imagination of the observer. Then the Neckar Valley is at one's feet.
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Little farther off is the Rhine, and away yonder of the Hart Mountains and
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the somber edges of the Black Forest. The faint blur on the southwestern horizon
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set to bespare, where the followers of the Reformation with first Court Protestants,
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and the lofty pinnacle of the cathedral, rising above the tombs of its imperial
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dead, quickens thoughts of that mellifluous doctor whose writings were a river of paradise,
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the Crusade preacher Saint Bernard, to whom the Madonna is credited with having
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revealed herself in that very church. Our mortal eyes may confirm the identity of
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this much from the Kernish Stew's observation tower, but we can only envy the
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miraculous vision of those who see the spire of the Strasbourg Cathedral sixty miles away.
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Doubtless they could distinguish the identical tree of the famous oldenwaldt Rhine. It
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stands a tree in the olden vault with men see a bough so green neath
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which my own true love and eye a thousand joys have seen. Another of
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the companion aisles of this moonlit tree top ocean is the popular mulcam cur,
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a modern way cure that flourishes on the princely site of the earliest stronghold of
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this whole region. To those who are strolling its broad terrace and reflecting,
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perhaps upon the tragic history of the place seven centuries roll back, and Barbaross's
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brother, the savage Conrade of Hohenstaufen, climbs the forest trail with archers and
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spearmen, returning to his mountain retreat from a rubber raid along the rhine.
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And perhaps the visitor fancies even hears the roar of that historic explosion that rained
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the wreckage of old Conrad's fortress on town and river, or sees the blinding
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lightning stroke that crumbled this dread stronghold into a stalking ground for the shuddering phantoms
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of winter Fireside legends, reflections that penetrate still farther back into the gloaming of
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local tradition, will precede Comrade's fortress with the temple of the enchantress Yetta.
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And could we distinguish in the distance the rock where the cozy inns the Volsbrunnen
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perches and serves its rare dinners of mountain trout. We should see the very
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spot where the wolf slew Yeta in judgment of the goddess Hebba, who was
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properly indignant that her priestess should have fallen in love with a mortal The nearer
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waters of the billowy forest sea that ripples around the ruined castle walls, containing
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their dark cool depths. A picturesque tangle of woodland paths and romanted walks,
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thickets are fragrant flowers, a shattered arch, half cloaked with ivy, and
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many A pleasant wayside cafe opened to the sky and gay with its little German
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band for those who emerge from the shadows and come up like undines into the
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moonlight that streams in the silver mist on terrace and garden as fair a picture
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reveals itself as can be seen in any part of our world. Here are
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lakes and grottoes, and fountains and statues, all flecked with the heavy shadows
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of linens and beeches. Here are crumbling towers and vine mantled turrets, and
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shattered moss grown arch and cornice. Even lovelier today are these gardens, and
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scarcely they're celebrated than three hundred years ago, when old Solomon Decaus, architect
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and engineer of the Count's Palatine and first profit of the power of steam,
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leveled the mountain tops and filled up the valleys, as he has recorded in
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a Latin inscription in one of the older grottos, and built these plantations,
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and made them the haunts of singing birds, and filled them with orange trees
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and rare exotic plants, and ornamented them with statues and with fountains that made
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music as they played. The ruined castle is embreced and unfolded in these beautiful
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gardens, as an ailing child by its mother's arms. The ravages of fire
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and war have scarred and wrecked it beyond man's redemption. But the sturdy walls
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still opposed their twenty foot masonry to the attacks of time, as stubbornly as
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did the Great Rent Tower when it defied the powder blasts of the detest Count
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Melach and his devastating Frenchmen. As the hour of ten draws near, we
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returned through the vaulted passage from the great Balcony and enter the grass grown central
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courtyard. Outside, the facades were grim and bleak, and built to meet
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an enemy's blows. But toward the courtyard the castle turned faces of ornament and
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beauty on fields at once, the force of the saying that this is not
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the ruin of a castle, but of an epoch. It slowly flowered through
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the five hundred years that Heidelberg was the capital of the Palatinate, and all
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the development of those intervening times is expressed in its varying architecture. Pomp and
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circumstance are written big across it. For its masters and builders were counts and
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princes, kings and emperors. One feels the love and pride they took In
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these deserted palaces now masters in the pale moonlight, whole rows of effigies of
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the illustrious dead stand boldly forth, and niches of the hollow, staring walls
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and medallion heads peer curiously. Out of pediment recesses and history and allegory find
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expression and lifelike statue and carven bust, delicate arabesques and fanciful conceits wreathed themselves
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in stones of portal and cornice, and the armorial chequers of Bavaria and the
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Lion of the Palatinate oppose the lordly eagle of the Empire. Time has modulated
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the discordant keys of architecture at divergent periods into a common and mellow harmony,
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so that the first rude stones laid by Old Rudolph seem a consistent part of
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an assemblage that includes the finest example of Renaissance architecture in all Germany. Otto
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Heinrich's wonderful ruddy Palace set with its yellow statues on things of proud and the
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Battle of the White Hill. As he sees the ill starred Frederic's massive country
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beauty and wonders why this beautiful realm could not have enticed him from playing that
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tragic role of winter. King Frederick's palace rooms impressively by night, in its
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varied architecture and majestic effigies of the House of Visseelsbach, one feels the propriety
28:17
of having here a comprehensive levy upon the building knowledge of all previous time,
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as an adequate and appropriate expression of the Catholic culture of the lords of the
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Palatinate. And indeed one reflects there was need for both strength and beauty to
28:33
a fortress that was to play so momentous a role in the fierce dissensions of
28:37
its time. In that dungeon, a pope once lay a prisoner in this
28:42
chamber, huss found refuge in yonder Chapel, Luther has preached, and all
28:48
the foremost spiritual lords of the hour. This courtyard has echoed, were shouts
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for the Emperor Sigismund when he tarried here en route to play that perfidious part
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at the Council of Constance, and as rocked with wild applause as wicked Fritz,
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returning in triumph from the battlefield of Sekenheim, marched in his captive princes,
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these staring walls have blazed with royal fates. In the hush and desolation
29:15
of tonight, one feels a deep sadness in contrast in the ominous silence that
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pervades them now, with the splendor and uproar that vitalized them when a princess
29:25
was wedded in this crumbling chapel, when Emperor Maximilian came up from his coronation
29:30
at Frankfort, when the foremost figure of his era, Emperor Charles the Fifth,
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and a cellar little son who was let to fill up the second feasted
29:38
and reveled here for days at a time. We look up at the Gothic
29:44
balconies, and it seems as though we could almost see some early lord of
29:48
the Stronghold peering down through painted windows at the athletic sports of his hardy sons,
29:53
and a certain unreality takes phantom form and substance, and the sentinel figures
29:59
deced men solemnly from their niches, as a train of valorous knights, and
30:03
pages issues from Otto Heinrich's broad portal with music and laughter. There is the
30:08
scrape and tread of mailed feet, and the shouts of a gallant company,
30:12
as fair haired women in shimmering silks and high peaked head dresses award prizes of
30:18
the tourney to kneeling men in glittering armor, and the trumpets sound, the
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torches flare, and the noble retinue sweeps into the great banquet hall, while
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the merry councilor, who brings up the rear makes us a profound and mocking
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bough. As the door is closed and we are alone with the statues in
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the moonlight, the empty, silent courtyard is spectral and sad. T is
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an hour for reverie, for apprehension. The pale silver of the moon whitens
30:47
into phantom life. Two sides in a corner. The rest is a deep
30:52
hushed shadow. A cushion of ivy stirs in the faint night air. A
30:56
bat flashes over a shattered cornice stone detaches itself exhaustedly, and falls with a
31:02
tinkle of sand, making a protest of little echoes. One steals away,
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silently, resigning ward of all the senile decay to faithful per care, who,
31:12
in wooden effigy still companions as huge empty tons in the darkness of the
31:18
cellars, the little red haired, faithful jesture, who alone remains constant to
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his master, of all the army of attendants that throng these palaces for half
31:27
a thousand years. We passed the old stone canopied well, whose columns once
31:33
for Charmain's past, the ponderous clock tower, and the moat bridge, and
31:38
enter the fragrant gardens. As the valley bells sound ten, and the purple
31:42
mists arising from the neckar it is impossible to escape a feeling a profound melancholy.
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Where now are the powerful princes, whose rusted swords may not strike back?
31:53
Were I to raise a hand of destruction against the halls they reared and
31:56
loved, and guarded with such might, the fate of every man, said
32:01
the korn have we bound about his neck? It is depressing to think that
32:07
such a glory power and beauty as once were here should have flourished so wonderfully
32:12
and come to so little? Was all this magnificence created merely for destruction?
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Can nothing less suffice grim time to build him an eerie for bats and swallows.
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Was von Matheson right, And the judgment he expressed in the sad and
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sympathetic elegy he penned in these Ruins. Must we conclude with him that temporal
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glories but ashes, and that the darkness of the grave adorns impartially the proud
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brow of the world ruler and the trembling head that shakes above the Pilgrim's staff.
32:43
Hohits ere marked un rum Saint ethel Anes wertgibtzs strotzer scheitel und ein zittend
32:51
helped arm pilgrishtab decked mitt einer dunkel height das grab end of section nine.