hearts, raised in praise of his greatness and his beneficence. Swiftly shot they past the several towns which studded both banks of the river; and, among others, past St. Goar. No one thought of the holy man; no one deemed of the sacred spot; far other thoughts than those of religion and penitence occupied their minds; their souls were filled with the pleasures of the world.

"Hurrah!" shouted a losel, in the bow of the imperial barque; "how merrily dance we o'er the blue waters."

"Another hour and we are at Boppart," cried a second.

"And to-night in fair Coblentz," interposed a third, "shall we not drink deep of the Moselle wine, and gaily kiss the Moselle maidens ?"

A loud laugh followed this sally of licentious wit; but the mirth it excited was only of short duration. All of a sudden the sky darkened; the thunder growled; the lightning flashed; and the river rose like a giant from his slumber. In a moment it was pitch-dark; the passengers could not see one another's faces, though it was little past mid-day. All was consternation and dismay in that gay flotilla.

"Put ashore, put ashore," shouted the emperor.

"Put ashore, put ashore," resounded from every barque in the fleet.

But it was easier said than done. Make what effort they might, the mariners could not move a single vessel. In vain they toiled at their oars; in vain they exerted their strength; in vain they expended their energies; in vain did the courtiers, nay, even the monarch himself, lend them assistance; not an inch could they be made to stir; there they seemed, as it were, fixed, rooted, while the raging waters boiled and foamed up around them like the contents of a hideous caldron prepared to engulf them all in its gaping entrails. It was then outspake a gray-bearded boatman, who had known the moods of the Rhine for full fifty years:—

"Further

"It may not be, oh Kaiser!"* thus he spake. we cannot proceed; we have offended God and St. Goar."

* Emperor.

The monarch felt the force of this observation; but he said nothing. Not so, however, his affrighted train.

"A miracle! a miracle!" they cried in deep dismay. "We have offended God and St. Goar."

Many were the vows made that day to the saint.

"Put ashore," said the emperor, "in the name of God and St. Goar. We go on no further this day, fair or foul; but at the shrine of that holy hermit shall we pray his intercession with Heaven for peace and forgiveness."

In another instant the dense darkness was dissipated; the thick clouds were rolled up as though they were a slight screen; the sun shone out, if possible, more beautiful than before; and the face of the foaming river became like a polished mirror, so still, so smooth, did its bright waters flow onward in their course. The flotilla put in for the shore, and landed without difficulty. The remainder of the day was spent in prayer and penitence; the next morning they embarked "better and wiser" for their tribulation; and in due time they reached their destination.

Before, however, Charlemagne departed from the sacred shrine, he bestowed on it a rich largess, which was much increased by the imitative donations of his court. He also endowed the monastery with many broad lands, and conferred high privileges upon it; which, concludes the legend, redounded much to his honour and glory in this life, and secured him eternal happiness in the next.

It appears that the saint was not ungrateful for the monarch's gifts; for we find his grave, some time before Charlemagne's death, the scene of a most touching interview, ending in a tender reconciliation, between his rival sons, Pepin and Carloman, who then disputed with each other respecting the sovereignty of his immense empire. A German lady,* whose genius does honour to her sex and nation, has turned the tale into sweet verse, and embalmed it with the very essence of poetry. The following is a free translation of her production :

* Adelheid von Stolterfoth. "Rheinischer Sagen-Kreis :" more than once alluded to in this work.

ST. GOAR'S GRAVE-PEPIN AND KARL.

Close by the syren Lurley's rocky throne,
Ages a-gone, the holy Goar dwelt.

With his own hands deep in the mountain-stone
Daily his grave he dug as there he knelt.

Wide o'er the land the word of truth he spread :
Rude heathens heard and humbly worshipped.

But not to these were all his cares confined:

Full many a foundering barque he brought to shore,

And travellers lost, to dreary death consigned,

The thickets through, the rough paths past, he bore;

And wearied wanderers gave to eat and rest;

And cheered the fainting, and the dying blest.

Which made, that when united to his God,

From every part throng'd crowds of pilgrims there: The sad of heart his lowly chapel trod,

The sinner, too, for pardon did repair,

And eke the sick and sore, -and each departed
From thence, if not all healed, yet lighter-hearted.

As time sped on his fame grew more divine,
So that the king and beggar might be seen
At the same moment kneeling to his shrine,
Praying his aid-a pleasant sight I ween.
Rose a rich pile, as gifts poured in a-main,
Which, sooth to say, the monks paid back again

In hospitality. Once, ages ago,

When ruled the German realm old Charlemagne,
It happ'd that 'tween his elder sons did flow

A stream of hate-wherefore's not said or sang-
But they were foes-such foes as brothers be
When they fall out-'twas terrible to see!

Pepin, a valiant prince, long time had dwelt,
And fought, and conquered in fair Italy;
While to his brother Karloman had knelt

The pride, and power, and worth of Germany.
Both now are on their way to Thionville,
Where their great sire divide his empire will.*

One path alone led unto his abode,

That was the Rhine, the grand, the glorious Rhine :-
Each with a well-armed train now took this road.

Pepin was first; and as he near'd the shrine
Of good St. Goar, "Here," he said, "I'll pray ;-
'Twas here my brother last in these arms lay.

'Twas here we parted last, and here I'll kneel.
Why is it we are now such mortal foes;

Yet Ludwig friend to both ?"—"Twas thus did feel
And think the prince, ere from that shrine he rose ;
Then he with softened heart stood up, and eye

Filled to the brim with tearful agony.

* A. D. 306, Charlemagne held an Imperial Diet at Thionville, or Dielenhofen, as it was then called, and there partitioned his immense empire, by testament, between his three sons, Karloman, Pepin, and Ludwig. They were made co-regents of their respective portions during his lifetime.

Meanwhile approached the train of Karl the spot:

An hour full before had sped their lord;
And as he neared the scene he sudden caught
The reflex of his brother's glancing horde.
He springs ashore-he hies him through the wood,
He, too, would kneel unto St. Goar good.

He, too, is touched with tenderness-and lo!
Unto the blessed shrine is humbly boune
To pray and be at peace. That none may
The penitent, his vizor draws he down.

know

The chapel's reach'd-the portal 's pass'd-he sees— Protect us, Heaven!—his brother on his knees.

He scarcely breathes ;-he dares not stir. Behind
A massive pillar hides he him in haste.

Oh God! Who may imagine in his mind,

As Pepin's prayer fell on his ear, what pass'd?
Who deem the happiness his soul that swell'd,
As though the choir like heavenly rills it well'd?

"I ask not greatness, Lord; I pray not power; Be wealth and glory far from me apart,”'Twas thus he prayed," but give me in this hourThis hour of peace and penitence—his heart! Grant that once more we friends, as brothers, be, Then take my life-'tis thine-oh! joyfully."

Hark! o'er the pavement clangs a warrior's tread;
Lo! an arm'd knight the kneeling prince embraces.
Through his closed vizor, hot and fast is shed

A shower of tears; it bathed both their faces. "Who art thou?"- "Brother, canst thou me forgive? 'Tis thine this heart-my all-why should I live?"

Pepin looks up into the stranger's eye;
With hasty hand his vizor sets aside.
Oh happy he! why did he not then die?

He has his prayer. O'erborne with joy and pride,