On the Rhine

On the little plank-pier of the village,
The village on banks of Rhine,
With peasants brown from the tillage
See a travelling youth recline.

The rock with its castle facing,
Vine-hills in a sunny air,
The silver current chasing
With image reversed and rare.

But the youth loses eyes of dreaming
In the heat-haze luminous
Afar where the flood looks streaming
From skies mysterious.

Till a cloud or a smoke faint staining,
A phantom emerges dim :
Though his eye grow tired with strainint
His heart rings a happy chime.

With the wash of the mighty water
As it forks at the pier piles,
And the peasants' careless laughter,
And the myriad river-smiles.

Now you see the deck of the steamer.
The froth of her rushing wheel ;
She sidling smoother and tamer
Fling the uncoiling reel !

A maiden has waved him greeting
As he hurries across the plank,
While thirsty eyes in the meeting
Draughts for a century drank.

To the vineyards turn their glances
And storied castle shells.
To the creaming foam as it dances
In the crush of the paddle swells.

But their faces touch more nearly
Than anything compels
If two young travellers merely
Study the Drachenfels.

At the last I saw them standing
With wringing hands locked long :
But the careless crowd at the landing
To separate was strong.

To bear through the years asunder
With a change of cares and strife,
Till they only dreamily wonder
Where each has roved in life.

And if either came to the river
In a far-off" after year.
And watched the sunlight quiver
On water about the pier ;

It would seem as though two strangers
Had met as lovers here,
\Vhile they, mere careless rangers,
Travelled with him and her.

For the hour has been crowned and banished
When the youth stood there intent ;
And the globes of the stream have vanished
Whereon his gaze was bent.

So lost are thought and feeling
That glimmered in boy and maid :
To the old spot wistful stealing
We find the past is dead !

Our friends may be laughing or weepins
Much as they used of old,
Nor yet our little ones leaping
Over our loveless mould.

And one may indeed resemble
The man who was yours before,
And your yearning spirit a-tremble
May feel for the friend of yore.

Learn such a longing to smother :
Yesterday's friends are gone :
Your friend were not more another
Slept he under the stone.

Still stands the pier of the village ;
But never from there again
That youth with men from the tillage
Eyes to the haze shall strain.