From Berncastel, then, in the grey of early morning, we wander forth. There are roads on both banks,—small pleasant by-roads, through gardens and vineyards. As we proceed, and begin to think that coffee and new-laid eggs would be no encumbrance, but rather help to balance the system, a faint tinge of crimson appears over the grey hills; little wreaths of mist break away from the mass of watery vapour that clings to the river’s banks, and curl upwards to the light, and then with all its glory comes the
BREAK OF DAY.
How beautiful the first faint rays of light,
Gilding the clouds that, banishing the night,
Come like swift messengers, and drive away
From us the darkness, ushering in the day!
The day approaches, brighter and more bright;
The heavens seem bursting with the coming light;
Up flames the sun! and first the lofty hills,
The corn and uplands, with his lustre fills;