Thy cheerful towns, thy Gothic piles,
Thy rude ravines, thy verdant isles;
Thy golden hills with garlands bound,
Thy giant crags with castles crown'd!

I have seen thee by morning's early light,
I have seen thee by evening gray;
With the crimson blush of sun-set bright,
And lit by the moon's pale ray;

Shrouded in mist and darken'd by storm,
With the countless tints of autumn warm:
In ev'ry hue that can o'er thee fall;
And lovely, lovely thou art in all.
The Rhine!--That little word will be
For aye a spell of power to me,
And conjure up, in care's despite,
A thousand visions of delight.

The Rhine! O where beneath the sun
Doth that fair river's rival run?
Where dawns the day upon a stream,
Can in such changeful beauty shine,
Outstripping Fancy's wildest dream,
Like yon green, glancing, glorious Rhine.

Born where blooms the Alpine rose,
Cradled in the Boden--see,[3]
Forth the infant river flows,
Leaping on in childish glee.