Download or read book Wild Flowers from Germany written by Francis Du Bourdieu and published by Theclassics.Us. This book was released on 2013-09 with total page 24 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1850 edition. Excerpt: ... WILD FLOWERS FROM GERMANY, (c)3) Mcg of fUscssi&tto. Solemnly sounds the vesper chime, Prom the proud dome of Hildesheim, As on the breath of eve it floats, In pleasing, melancholy notes: It ceases--and from those grey walls, Sweet on the ravished ear, now falls Such sound as angels' voices raise, Chanting in heaven the Almighty's praise, From gentle maidens, there confined By priestly power o'er female mind, In convent's thrall and cells so drear, To shed regret's still flowing tear, And, in religion's name, forego All blessings granted here below: Ne'er to taste the joys of love--Best gift to earth from heaven above; That genial ray, so pure, so bright--That beacon which, in life's dark night, Cheers the heart and glads the sight, And guides the soul in heavenward flight. Perish the hypocritic crew, Who nature's dearest charter sold; The sale, religion, which they knew, To cheat mankind and gather gold: For this, immured in life's sweet prime, Blue-eyed nuns their vigils keep; God's great commandment deemed a crime--Life's only care to pray and weep. For this, the flower of Europe's brave, Were sent to find an early grave On burning plains of Palestine--Monks said it was by law divine; But how can man God's will define? Methinks their motive was sheer pelf--Their mock devotion merely self; And while their dupes their life's-blood shed, These wily men at home were fed On gifts, by superstition prest, To pray their victims' souls to rest. But, Hildesheim, thy sacred pile Was not the fruit of priestly guile: No devotee caused thee to rise--No death-bed terrors wild: 'Twas that pure flame which, from the skies, Shines genial, warm, and mild--'Twas love, devoted e'en in death, Which parts not with the parting breath; Such love, as from the.