THE BAD MAURUS.
The departed Maurus, who now figures as a pernicious hobgoblin, was formerly a resident of Cus; a drunkard and scoffer at all things holy, this wretch filled up the measure of his iniquities by beating his wife: so ill did he use her, that the neighbours were constantly obliged to come in and save her from his brutality.
The thread of his evil life was summarily cut in this manner: one night as he returned, drunk as usual, to his home, fully intending to beat his wife if waiting up, and equally bent on thrashing her if she had gone to bed, a man in black with a lantern kindly offered to show him the way home: he eagerly accepted the offer, and his guide preceded him; so the two went on, the black-hearted man led by the man in black.
In the morning Maurus was found lying dead at the foot of a rock; they raised the body and brought it to his poor wife, who, forgetting all his ill-usage, sorrowed for the death of her husband.
The widow ordered a suitable funeral, and the body was laid in the churchyard, but on coming back from the funeral, Maurus was seen looking from the garret-window, where he had been observing and sneering at his own funeral: everybody was horrified, and Maurus continued to haunt the upper story of his wife’s house until three priests exorcised the hobgoblin, and forced him into the country.
Here the mischievous rascal amused himself by shouting to the ferrymen, “Fetch over! Fetch over!” They, thinking it the voice of a voyager, willingly crossed; then Maurus jeered them, clapping his hands: at last the priests attacked him again, and drove him into the forest. Still, at times the wicked Maurus sneaks into town, and sits on the doorstep of his old house, and his voice is yet heard in the forest, where he wanders for ever.
A charming mountain walk of about four miles leads to Trarbach. Up through the vines we climb, no longer wondering where all the wine comes from; above the vines is a bare crest of heath-covered turf, then a steep descent leads into the valley, at the mouth of which Trarbach is placed: but by going this road, beautiful as it is, more interesting scenery is omitted. The distance by river from Berncastel to Trarbach is about fifteen miles, while by land it is only, as we have said, about four, so great are the bendings of the stream; which, however, we shall follow, being by no means tired of her society. It was at Berncastel that the following verses were written, after admiring the lovely effects there produced by the
MORNING MISTS.
I love the river when the sunshine gay
Kisses the waves, which joyful seem to play,
Dancing like elves so merrily around,
Rippling and gurgling with many a happy sound.
I love the river when the dewdrops fall,
When rocks re-echo to the herdsman’s call,
Who, as the eve spreads darkly o’er the plain,
Returning, leads his cattle back again.
I love the river at that moonlight hour
When all bad spirits lose their evil power;
Calmly and holily she rides on high,
The waves soft murmur and the zephyrs sigh.
But most I love thee, O my gentle River!
When at glad morn the mists around thee quiver;
When round and o’er thee the faint-flowing veil
Now falls, now rises with the swelling gale.
As on her wedding morn the blushing bride,
With fleecy veil and white robe seeks to hide
From eager gazers, who in crowds attend,
Her beauty, and the very act doth lend
A greater charm, a new and crowning grace,
To which all other lesser charms give place:
Arrayed in veil and robe of pure white, she
Fit emblem is of virgin modesty.
O thy great beauty! thy enduring grace!
To which all other scenes and streams give place;
Causing all those who thy sweet waters know,
To praise their God, “from whom all blessings flow.”
