sad birds lodges within two steps of me, in the hollow of a tree,
and when night comes, he amuses himself by singing a duet with the
singing wind. The Rhine plays an accompaniment, and its grave,
subdued voice furnishes a continuous bass, whose volume swells and
falls in rhythmic waves. The other evening this concert failed;
neither the wind nor the owl was in voice. The Rhine alone
grumbled beneath; but it arranged a surprise for me and proved that
it could make harmony of its own without other aid. Towards
midnight a barge carrying a lantern on its prow had become detached
from the bank and had drifted across the river, and I distinctly
heard, or imagined that I heard, the wash of the waves upon the
side of the boat, the bubbling of the eddy which formed under the
stern, the dull sound of the oar when it dipped into the current,
and still sweeter, when raised out of it the tender tears which
dripped from it drop by drop. This music contrasted strongly with
that I had heard the night before at the same hour. The north wind
had risen during the evening, and near eleven o'clock it became
furious; it filled the air with sad howlings, and increased to a
rage that was inexpressible. The weathercocks creaked, the tiles
ground against each other, the roof timbers trembled in their
mortices, and the walls shook upon their foundations. From time to
time a blast would hurl itself against my window with wild shrieks,
and from my bed I imagined I could see through the panes the
bloodshot eyes of a band of famished wolves. In the brief
intervals when this outside tumult subsided, strange murmurs came
from the interior of the castle; the wainscoting gave forth dismal
creakings;--there was not a crack in the partitions, nor a fissure
in the ceiling from which did not issue a sigh, or hoarse groans.
Then again all this became silent, and I heard only something like
a low whispering in the far off corridors, as of phantoms murmuring