As we came opposite the mouth of
the Moselle and under the shadow of the mighty fortress, I gazed up with
awe at its massive walls. Apart from its magnitude and almost
impregnable situation on a perpendicular rock, it is filled with the
recollections of history and hallowed by the voice of poetry. The scene
went past like a panorama, the bridge of boats opened, the city glided
behind us, and we entered the highlands again.
Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a ruin and a legend. One feels
everywhere the spirit of the past, and its stirring recollections come
back upon the mind with irresistible force. I sat upon the deck the
whole afternoon as mountains, towns and castles passed by on either
side, watching them with a feeling of the most enthusiastic enjoyment.
Every place was familiar to me in memory, and they seemed like friends I
had long communed with in spirit and now met face to face. The English
tourists with whom the deck was covered seemed interested too, but in a
different manner. With Murray's Handbook open in their hands, they sat
and read about the very towns and towers they were passing, scarcely
lifting their eyes to the real scenes, except now and then to observe
that it was "very nice."
As we passed Boppart, I sought out the inn of the "Star," mentioned in
"Hyperion;" there was a maiden sitting on the steps who might have been
Paul Flemming's fair boat-woman.
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