We next reached the dismal old town of Boppart, once an imperial city,
still surrounded with venerable walls, and dignified by the fine
Benedictine nunnery and abbey of Marienberg, perched upon a mountain
above; an institution founded in the eleventh century, for the benefit
of noble families only, and enriched by the donations of several
Emperors and Electors. Boppart, like many other towns, is built on
the margin of the Rhine, whence it spreads up the rocks, that almost
impend over the water, on which the clustered houses are scarcely
distinguishable from the cliffs themselves. Besides the Benedictine
abbey, here is a convent of Carmelites, and another of Franciscans; and
the spot is such as suited well the superstition of former times, for
--"O'er the twilight groves, and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose;
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades every flower, and darkens every green,
Deepens the murmur of the sailing floods,
And breathes a browner horror o'er the woods."
The river, expanding into a vast bay, seems nearly surrounded by
mountains, that assume all shapes, as they aspire above each other;
shooting into cliffs of naked rock, which impend over the water, or,
covered with forests, retiring in multiplied steeps into regions
whither fancy only can follow. At their base, a few miserable cabins,
and half-famished vineyards, are all, that diversify the savageness of
the scene. Here two Capuchins, belonging probably to the convent above,
as they walked along the shore, beneath the dark cliffs of Boppart,
wrapt in the long black drapery of their order, and their heads
shrowded in cowls, that half concealed their faces, were interesting
figures in a picture, always gloomily sublime.