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SHEPHERD POET OF THE ALPS.
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His—now singing far and lone,
Where the young breeze ne'er was known;
Singing of the glad blue sky,
Wildly—and how mournfully!
Are none but the Wind and the Lammer-Geyer
To be free where the hills into heaven aspire?
Is the soul of song from the deep glens past,
Now that their Poet is chain'd at last?—
Think of the mountains, and deem not so!
Soon shall each blast like a clarion blow!
Yes! though forbidden be every word
Wherewith that Spirit the Alps hath stirr'd,
Yet even as a buried stream through earth
Rolls on to another and brighter birth,
So shall the voice that hath seem'd to die,
Burst forth with the Anthem of Liberty!
And another power is moving
In a bosom fondly loving:—
