His gait so proud to earth was bowed,
But still he could not die!
A deadly weight, a dreary fate,
A voice that said ‘Live on!
Each wretched breast may hope for rest,
But thou canst hope for none.’”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “The Black Forest,” p. 276 (Methuen).
CHAPTER II
DONAUWÖRTH TO RATISBON
“... the Walhalla rises, purely white;