The
wild black peaks of the Black Forest were spread below us, and the sun
sank through golden mist toward the Alsatian hills. Afar to the south,
through cloud and storm, we could just trace the white outline of the
Swiss Alps. The wind swept through the pines around, and bent the long
yellow grass among which we sat, with a strange, mournful sound, well
suiting the gloomy and mysterious region. It soon grew cold; the golden
clouds settled down toward us, and we made haste to descend to the
village of Lenzkirch before dark.
Next morning we set out early, without waiting to see the trial of
archery which was to take place among the mountain-youths. Their booths
and targets, gay with banners, stood on a green meadow beside the town.
We walked through the Black Forest the whole forenoon. It might be owing
to the many wild stories whose scenes are laid among these hills, but
with me there was a peculiar feeling of solemnity pervading the whole
region. The great pine-woods are of the very darkest hue of green, and
down their hoary, moss-floored aisles daylight seems never to have
shone. The air was pure and clear and the sunshine bright, but it
imparted no gayety to the scenery; except the little meadows of living
emerald which lay occasionally in the lap of a dell, the landscape wore
a solemn and serious air.
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