And the church-bells peal’d to the rocking blast
As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass’d.
The storm hath swept with the chase away,
There is stillness in the sky;
But the mother looks on her son to-day
With a troubled heart and eye,
And the maiden’s brow hath a shade of care
Midst the gleam of her golden hair!
The Rhine flows bright; but its waves ere long
Must hear a voice of war,