CHAPTER XII.
"Could I but once that face so dear
Behold before we sever;
And once again those accents hear,
Before we part for ever."
C. Grüneisen.
On the following day a horseman, oppressed by the heat of the mid-day sun, was bending his way over that part of the Swabian Alb which leads towards Franconia. He was young, more slim than strong built, and rode a large brown horse; he was well armed with cuirass, dagger, and sword; some parts of his defensive apparel, such as his helmet, and steel plates to cover his limbs, hung to his saddle. The striped light blue and white scarf, which passed across his breast over the right shoulder (the distinguishing prerogative of high rank in those days), shewed the young man to be of noble birth.
He had reached the summit of a hill, which afforded a view into the valley below, and stopping his horse, he turned on one side to enjoy the beautiful prospect. Before him lay an extended plain, bounded on each side by wooded heights, through which flowed the green waters of the Danube; on his right the chain of hills of the Würtemberg Alb; on his left the distant snow-capped Tyrolean Alps. The blue vault of heaven encircled the scene, and its soft colouring brought out in strong relief the dark walls of Ulm, its massive spire, and the whole extent of the town, which lay at the foot of the mountain.
Noon was announced at this moment by the tolling of the bells of the cathedral; their solemn tones resounded throughout the town and its extended plain, until they were lost among the distant mountains.
"The same sounds accompany my departure which greeted my arrival," thought the young man: "but how different did I interpret their brazen voices, when for the first time they reached my ear, and guided me to my love; and now that I depart disconsolate, and without object, the same tones follow me! They celebrated the birth of my hope, and now ring its knell. It is the picture of life!" he added, as he took a last farewell of the town in the valley beneath, and turned his horse away: "it is, indeed, the picture of life! These same sounds float over cradle and coffin; and the bells of the chapel of my house which rang a merry peal at my baptism, will also accompany the last of the Sturmfeders to the grave."