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The poetical efforts of that early age may be grouped under national epos: the "Nibelungenlied;" art epos: the "Rolandslied," "Percival," etc.; the introduction of antique legends: Veldeck's "Aeneide," and Konrad's "War of Troy;" Christian legends "Barlaam," "Sylvester," "Pilatus," etc.; poetical narratives: "Crescentia," "Graf Rudolf," etc.; animal legends; "Reinecke Vos;" didactic poems: "Der Renner;" the Minne-poetry, and prose.
Banks of cloud raced each other across the sky, and, crossing the bridge over the Reuss, we saw that the waters of the Lake, turquoise yesterday, were to-day a sullen indigo. The big steamers rolled at their moorings; white-crested waves were leaping against the quays, and thick mists clung like rolls of wool to the lower slopes of Pilatus.
New Bloomfield's my place. These your children? belong to both of you?" "Only to one of us; they are mine; my friend is not married." "Single, I reckon? So'm I. Are you two ladies traveling alone?" "No my husband is with us." "Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around alone don't you think so?" "I suppose it must be." "Hi, there's Mount Pilatus coming in sight again.
Yet he has been known to speak in terms of commendation of certain sunrises, and once was actually caught by a friend making a sketch of Pilatus at sunrise across the Lake of Lucerne. The objects in the immediate foreground shared in the neglect which attached to certain seasons.
He felt its presence when he saw the sun rise from Rigi; it stood by him amid the wreathing mists of Pilatus; it even checked his enthusiasm as they gazed together on the unequalled glories spread beneath the green summit of Monterone, and as their graceful boat made ripples on the moonlit waves of Orta and Lugans.
He further goes into the question of the population of devils in different countries. On the top of the Pilatus at Luzern, he says, is a black pond, which is one of the devil's favourite abodes. In Luther's own country there is also a high mountain, the Poltersberg, with a similar pond. When a stone is thrown into this pond, a great tempest arises, which often devastates the whole neighbourhood.
In the fourteenth century it was thought necessary carefully to watch the lake on Mount Pilatus, near Scariotto, to hinder the magicians from there consecrating their books.
All the mountains round it looked black in the dim light, and the rugged summit of Pilatus, still slightly sprinkled with snow, frowned down upon them; but southward, behind the dark range of lower hills, there stood out against the almost black-blue of the sky a broken line of pale, mysterious peaks, which might have been merely pallid clouds lying along the horizon but for their stedfast, unaltering immobility.
Every afternoon, near the hour of twilight, when the shadows reach down Mount Pilatus, and the mists gather in the valley, a broken procession of strollers, in twos and threes and larger groups, slowly climb its path. They are on their way to hear the great organ played. The audience was already seated. It was at the moment of that profound hush which precedes the recital.
Far, far below, the blue waters of Lake Lucerne mirrored the glowing colors of the mountain-peaks beyond its farther shore, and nearer, among the foothills of old Pilatus itself, a little village nestled among green trees, its roofs clustered about a white church-spire.
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