Those free streamers glancing, and thou not there!
—Is the moment of rapture, or fierce despair?
—Hark! there's a tumult that shakes his cell,
At the gates of the mountain citadel!
Hark! a clear voice through the rude sounds ringing!
—Doth he know the strain, and the wild, sweet singing?
"There may not long be fetters,
Where the cloud is earth's array,
And the bright floods leap from cave and steep,
Like a hunter on the prey!
"There may not long be fetters,
Where the white Alps have their towers;
Unto eagle-homes, if the arrow comes,
The chain is not for ours!"
It is she!—She is come like a day-spring beam,
She that so mournfully shadow'd his dream!
With her shining eyes and her buoyant form,
She is come! her tears on his cheek are warm
And O! the thrill in that weeping voice!
"My brother, my brother! come forth, rejoice!
—Poet! the land of thy love is free,
—Sister! thy brother is won by thee!
