peaks that they seem like real “castles in the air.” Others cling to the side of the steep, rocky slopes. Surrounded by forests, they look as if they grew there.
Long, long ago, they echoed to the sound of children's footsteps. High-born ladies swept their silken trains up and down the ancient halls. Often was heard the clank of spurred boots, and the sharp clash of arms, when brave knights went forth to war.
They are empty now and deserted, these grim old castles. Vines creep over the crumbling walls. Mice scurry through the dim rooms, and bats flit about tower and turret. And the great Rhine, as it winds along, buries their secrets under its hurrying water.
It is about these same “solemn old castles” of Rhineland, with their caves and rocks and forests, that I am going to tell you stories — stories so old and strange and full of mystery that no one knows where they came from. So they are called traditions or legends.
