A short distance further, the whole glorious panorama was
spread out below us. From the height on which we stood, we looked
directly on the summit of the Capuchin Mountain, which hid part of the
city from sight; the double peak of the Staufen rose opposite, and a
heavy storm was raging along the Alpine heights around it, while the
lovely valley lay in sunshine below, threaded by the bright current of
the Salza. As we descended and passed around the foot of the hill, the
Untersberg came in sight, whose broad summits lift themselves seven
thousand feet above the plain. The legend says that Charlemagne and his
warriors sit in its subterraneous caverns in complete armor, and that
they will arise and come forth again, when Germany recovers her former
power and glory.

I wish I could convey in words some idea of the elevation of spirit
experienced while looking on these eternal mountains. They fill the soul
with a sensation of power and grandeur which frees it awhile from the
cramps and fetters of common life. It rises and expands to the level of
their sublimity, till its thoughts stand solemnly aloft, like their
summits, piercing the free heaven. Their dazzling and imperishable
beauty is to the mind an image of its own enduring existence. When I
stand upon some snowy summit--the invisible apex of that mighty
pyramid--there seems a majesty in my weak will which might defy the
elements. This sense of power, inspired by a silent sympathy with the
forms of nature, is beautifully described--as shown in the free,
unconscious instincts of childhood--by the poet Uhland, in his ballad of
the "Mountain Boy." I have attempted a translation.

THE MOUNTAIN BOY.

A herd-boy on the mountain's brow,
I see the castles all below.
The sunbeam here is earliest cast
And by my side it lingers last--
I am the boy of the mountain!

The mother-house of streams is here--
I drink them in their cradles clear;
From out the rock they foam below,
I spring to catch them as they go!
I am the boy of the mountain!

To me belongs the mountain's bound,
Where gathering tempests march around;
But though from north and south they shout,
Above them still my song rings out--
"I am the boy of the mountain!"

Below me clouds and thunders move;
I stand amid the blue above.
I shout to them with fearless breast:
"Go, leave my father's house in rest!"
I am the boy