Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/289

CANTO III.] The mind is coloured by thy every hue;

And if reluctantly the eyes resign

Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine!

'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise;

More mighty spots may rise—more glaring shine,

But none unite in one attaching maze

The brilliant, fair, and soft,—the glories of old days,

LXI.

The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom

Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,

The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,

The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,—

The wild rocks shaped, as they had turrets been,

In mockery of man's art; and these withal

A race of faces happy as the scene,

Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,

Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall.