THE FERRY.
On grassy bank the village stands,
The crowds returning, throng
The ferry-boat, which quickly lands,
Impelled by arms so strong.
The heavy boat is filled with men,
With women, and with carts;
Amongst the crowd the children
Move with their lightsome hearts.
The women’s brows are stamped with care,
The men with toil are worn;
But midst them stand those children fair,
Those happy newly-born.
The doom of man, “for life to toil,”
Rests on the parents both,
But on that young, fresh, virgin soil,
Even the Sun is loth.
His hot red hand too fierce to press,
Where innocence and love
Call for a mother’s sweet caress
And from the sky above
Speak unto us, who labour here,
This message through them sent:
“Live, love, and worship, in God’s fear;
“To labour be content;
“So shall ye live, and dying, shall not miss
“The life immortal, in the realms of bliss!”
The different seasons of the year, of course, bring different incidents on our river into existence, each in its proper turn. The hay-harvest is a very lively time upon its banks; everywhere the green slopes are rid of their superfluous load, and boats cross and recross the river with the sweet-scented cargoes, some of which are stored, some transferred to larger bottoms for transportation down the stream.
Later comes the corn-harvest, then the boats are freighted with the golden ears; soon after an equally busy time sets in, when every sort of boat is seen piled with small branches of the oak: the leaves are stripped from the branches so brought home, and, being carefully dried, they form an excellent material with which the people stuff their mattresses, this making, as they assert, much warmer and softer beds, than straw. Every village possesses a right of cutting bedding at some place, and the different inhabitants have days allotted them by the authorities, on which they may help themselves.
The winter draws near and the vintage sets in, then all boats are employed on this absorbing service; the little boats, with large casks on board, look in the distance very much like gondolas: wherever the eye rests, nothing is seen that has not some connexion with the great event of the year on the Moselle. However, the vintage has a chapter to itself, so we will not dwell upon it here.
Carrying firewood is the last great occupation of the year for the smaller boats, and it is well for those who can procure a good supply of fuel, for the winter is cold and severe; unfortunately, too, wood is very scarce and dear, and though somewhat cheaper on the Moselle than in most parts of Germany, yet a good fire is quite out of the reach of the poorer classes, and they scrape together every morsel to enable them to feed the iron stoves which warm their cottages.
The river is in parts so shallow that breakwaters are built out from the banks, in order to deepen the centre of the stream; this, of course, makes the water run swifter, and it requires great toil of many horses to tug the barges up the stream. Floating down these rapids is agreeable enough, and the descent is made with very little labour, towns and villages succeeding each other on the banks, the approaches to them being lined with fruit-trees, of which the walnut and cherry are the most conspicuous.
The cherries are excellent, and so plentiful that children will often refuse a handful when offered, having previously gorged themselves at home. Numbers are exported, going by river to Coblence, and so on down the Rhine.
Apricots are also abundant in good seasons. They are grown on standard trees.
Garden produce of all sorts abounds, and apples and pears drop unheeded to the ground.
Through incidents like these, on bank and river, we glide on. We have, perhaps, halted during the midday heat at some inviting spot, where the cool shadows reposed beneath the walnuts; now the evening draws near, and rounding a corner, our resting-place for the night appears. The thin mist rising from the river obscures the base of the church, whose sharply-pointed spire is conspicuous above the trees; lights fall in tremulous lines from the high windows, and in the air is the sound of—