I PASSED a day on Mosel river,--
A day beginning with the sun;
It ended not till light was over,
And then, alas! that it was done.

The early morn with dew was rife,
The low light shadowing out the scene;
Noon, with intensity of life,
And evening bright with crimson sheen.

Through glorious shores it flow'd for ever,
Revealed on our contented eyes;
It might have been that golden river,
On both whose banks was Paradise.

I sate by thee, mine own dear friend,
And thou and I were there alone;
That day at least I did not fear
That we should part ere day was done.

We saw those lovely things together,
Which never will depart our mind;
We saw and felt that blessed river,
Which now, alas! is far behind.

The liquid opal of the stream
Dark with the light obliquely shed;
The reach far stretching to the beam,
Then doubling back whence first it sped;

Successive villages that rose,
Each with a spire addressed to God,--
Quaint dwelling-places rear'd of those
Who long since slept beneath the sod;

Groves bordering all the water-side,
With pathways where the peasants stood;
And gathering into woods, whose pride
Adorned the hills above the flood.

And where the porph'y rock threw out
Before the sun, its crimson sheet,
There, vineyards spread their wealth about,
Maturing in the noon-day heat.

And then along some shelving shore
The stream at times rushed swiftly past;
The boatman, resting on his oar,
Let go our vessel light and fast.

And we, among the sudden stir
Of poppling waves, were carried by;
And to each other smiled to mark
The foam-flakes sparkle on the eye.

Oh joyous river! pleasant day!
Not loud wert thou, but dear and bright;
And full of gladness, as the sky
Is full of air, the day of light.

How joyful will it be, to dwell
On thee, if bright my future days;
But oh! if Grief renews its spell,
How sad will show thy former rays.

I pray thee, Time, reveal the way
That lies before my steps for ever;
Shall I be glad or sorry, say,
To think upon the Mosel river?