“That day the tide ran crimson red
(But not with Rhenish wine);
Not with those vintage streams that through
The green leaves gush and shine:
’Twas blood that from the Lombard ranks
Rushed down into the Rhine.
“’Twas here the German soldiers flocked,
Burning with love and pride,
And threw their muskets down to kiss
The soil with French blood dyed.
‘The Rhine, dear Rhine!’ ten thousand men,
Kneeling together, cried.”
Thornbury.
There is a beautiful legend that Charlemagne visits the Rhine yearly and blesses the vintage. He comes in a golden robe, and crosses the river on a golden bridge, and the bells of heaven chime above him as he fulfils his peaceful mission. The fine superstition is celebrated in music and verse.
“By the Rhine, the emerald river,
How softly glows the night!
The vine-clad hills are lying
In the moonbeams’ golden light.
“And on the hillside walketh
A kingly shadow down,
With sword and purple mantle,
And heavy golden crown.
“’Tis Charlemagne, the emperor,
Who, with a powerful hand,
For many a hundred years
Hath ruled in German land.
“From out his grave in Aachen
He hath arisen there,
To bless once more his vineyards,
And breathe their fragrant air.
“By Rudesheim, on the water,
The moon doth brightly shine,
And buildeth a bridge of gold
Across the emerald Rhine.
“The emperor walketh over,
And all along the tide
Bestows his benediction
On the vineyards far and wide.