he storm is the creature of my power. Far yonder to
the west it sweeps over the sea, and the ship ceases to vex the waves;
it smites the forest, and the destined tree, torn from its roots, feels
the winter strip the gladness from its boughs no more! The roar of the
elements is the herald of eternal stillness to their victims; and they
who hear the progress of my power idly shudder at the coming of peace.
And thou, O tender daughter of the fairy kings, why grievest thou at a
mortal's doom? Knowest thou not that sorrow cometh with years, and that
to live is to mourn? Blessed is the flower that, nipped in its early
spring, feels not the blast that one by one scatters its blossoms around
it, and leaves but the barren stem. Blessed are the young whom I clasp
to my breast, and lull into the sleep which the storm cannot break, nor
the morrow arouse to sorrow or to toil. The heart that is stilled in the
bloom of its first emotions, that turns with its last throb to the eye
of love, as yet unlearned in the possibility of change,--has exhausted
already the wine of life, and is saved only from the lees. As the mother
soothes to sleep the wail of her troubled child, I open my arms to the
vexed spirit, and my bosom cradles the unquiet to repose!"

The fairies answered not, for a chill and a fear lay over them, and the
Shape glided on; ever as it passed away through the veiling clouds they
heard its low voice singing amidst the roar of the storm, as the dirge
of the water-sprite over the vessel it hath lured into the whirlpool or
the shoals.

CHAPTER XXVII. THURMBERG.--A STORM UPON THE RHINE.--THE RUINS OF
RHEINFELS.--PERIL UNFELT BY LOVE.--THE ECHO OF THE LURLEI-BERG.--ST.
GOAR.--KAUB, GUTENFELS, AND PFALZGRAFENSTEIN.--A CERTAIN VASTNESS OF
MIND IN THE FIRST HERMITS.--THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE TO BACHARACH.

OUR party continued their voyage the next day, which was less bright
than any they had yet experienced. The clouds swept on dull and heavy,
suffering the sun only to break forth at scattered intervals. They wound
round the curving bay which the Rhine forms in that part of its course,
and gazed upon the ruins of Thurmberg, with the rich gardens that skirt
the banks below. The last time Trevylyan had seen those ruins soaring
against the sky, the green foliage at the foot of the rocks, and the
quiet village sequestered beneath, glassing its roofs and solitary tower
upon the wave, it had been with a gay summer troop of light fri