Below Burg, on the left bank, is Reil, most charmingly snuggled in trees; a road from it leads up to the forest, through which passes a good road to Alf. This road keeps along the crest of the hill, past the neck of the Marienburg promontory, then descends into Alf.
The views from this road are superb. Through the openings of oak-trees are seen distant landscapes, that, sleeping in sunshine, seem gems to adorn the green girdle which Nature binds round the earth.
The fairy Moselle seems tranquilly sleeping through noontide, while in the heavens the fleecy white clouds are protecting our gentle river from harm; and their brightness reflected in her, seems a sweet dream sent from above, which gladdens the heart of the sleeper.
There is a dip in the long neck of land that leads towards Zell, which enables us to see a distant reach of our river; thus, standing quite still, three different windings are seen, and by taking a very few paces, a fourth (beyond Alf) comes in view.
Comparisons are more or less odious, as every one knows, and has written when young; but, considering the raptures in which people annually indulge on the Rhine, it is, to say the least of it, wonderful that scarcely any visit our lovely river, which certainly will not suffer by being compared with the grander and manlier stream.
The Convent of Marienburg dates from the twelfth century. Owing to its situation, it was always sought by conflicting parties as a strong post in war-time, which so interfered with its usefulness as a place of repose for the weary in mind, that Pope Leo X. had it abolished, and the twelve canonesses received each a pension of twenty-five florins of gold, a half tun of wine, and three sacks of corn; so with these goods of the world they contented themselves for the loss of their convent.
At this present time the ruins of the convent and church are still standing, and within them an inn and a bright little garden, where refreshments are served by the landlady and her two daughters: the father is one of the Foresters, and his house is adorned with arms of all sorts. In the garden is a large room, surrounded with spoils of the chase, and stuffed animals of all sorts and sizes. The young ladies play the guitar and sing national songs, so a day may be pleasantly spent there in the old German style.
There is a little chapel still fitted up; as they open the door the interior is gloomily seen, but a window throws a strong light on a misshapen image of some cadaverous saint. The effect is quite startling, especially if you have been listening to the tales of the hermits and ghosts who delighted to live and to wander here. Here is one of the stories, called