The scenery along the Moselle is in many places just as
beautiful as that along the Rhine. The steep hills that ran down
to the river were cultivated in many places to near their tops.
All along the railroad track lay plats of vegetables, and the
neat homes that nestled at the foot of the hills among
blossoming pear trees looked as if "neither care nor want had
ever crossed their threshold." The foliage had not yet clothed
the vines that rose in terraces far above the houses. At Kochem
we beheld the ruins of a splendid castle and monastery. The old
cities of Kardon and Treves were seen through a sunlit rain, and
the level rays of the descending sun produced an effect of the
most singular beauty.
We spent the night in Coblentz and on the following morning set
out to see Ehrenbreitstein. The view from this place is very
fine. At our feet lay the town with its zigzag fortifications
clasped by the silver fork of the two streams that were spanned
by four bridges. The great outworks of the fortress reach far
beyond, while to the right rise the dark, frowning mass Of
volcanic rocks known as the "Eifel." Far away our eyes rested
upon vineyards not yet clothed in verdure.
But the most delightful part of our journey was that from
Coblentz to Cologne. Here we passed through the lovely region of
the Seven Mountains where the old castles "still look down from
their heights as if musing on the spirit of the past."
Even after viewing these medieval castles the scenery along the
Hudson loses none of its charm. But what a contrast! In place of
low vineyard-clad hills, as you see along the Rhine, the
majestic Hudson winds in leisurely fashion among its primeval
forests, the bases of its mountains laved by its current, while
their summits are often shrouded in clouds. You see a grandeur
in the majestic sweep of this beautiful river that you will miss
in the Rhine. The latter is beautiful, we will admit, but it
seems to be swallowed up in detail which detracts rather than
adds to the beauty of it. Whoever has seen both rivers will see,
if he looks with an impartial eye, the points of excellence
found in each. But, standing above the Hudson and gazing out
over the wonderful scene from West Point, you forget your
Rhenish raptures and exclaim with the traveler "Few spots in the
world are as beautiful as this."
As we passed through Tarrytown we thought of Stephen Henry
Thayer's many "sweet transcripts" redolent with the siren voices
of woods and waters of Sleepy Hollow. Like some faint, far-off
lullaby we seemed to hear floating across the opposite shores of
the Tappan-Zee the tranquil evening reverie of his "Nyack
Bells":
"The lurking shadows, dim and mute,
Fall vaguely on the dusky river;
Vexed breezes play a phantom lute,
Athwart the waves that curl and quiver
And hedged against an amber light,
The lone hills cling, in vain endeavor
To touch the curtained clouds of night,
That, weird-like, form and fade forever.
