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So, in regions wild and wide
We will pierce the savage woods,
Clothe the rocks in purple pride,
Plough the vallies, tame the floods ;

Till a beauteous inland-isle,
By a forest-sea embraced,
Shall make Desolation smile
In the depth of his own waste.

There, unenvied and unknown,
We shall dwell secure and free,

In a country all our own,
In a land of Liberty!"

Shep. “ Yet the woods, the 'rocks, the streams,

Unbeloved, shall bring to mind,
Warm with Evening's purple beams,
Dearer objects left behind

And thy native country's song,
Caroll'd in a foreign clime,
When new echoes shall prolong,
-Simple, tender, and sublime,

How will thy poor cheek turn pale!
And, before thy banish'd eyes,
UNDERWALDEN's charming vale,
And thine own sweet cottage rise !"

Wand. By the glorious ghost of TELL!

By MORGARTHEN's awful fray !
By the field where ALBERT fell
In thy last and bitter day!


-Ha! the spell has waked the dead : From her ashes to the skies

SWITZERLAND exalts her head.

See the Queen of Mountains stand,
In immortal mail complete,
With the lightning in her hand,
And the Alps beneath her feet.

Hark! her voice :-“ My sons ! awake ! “ Freedom dawns, behold the day ! “ From the bed of bondage break, « 'Tis your Mother calls,-obey !"

At the sound, our fathers' graves,
On each ancient battle-plain,

and toss like waves When the wild blast sweeps the main.

Rise, my Brethren ! cast away
All the chains that bind you slaves;
Rise !—your Mother's voice obey,
And appease your fathers' graves

Strike the conflict is begun;

Freemen! Soldiers ! follow me!

Shout !—the Victory is won,


Shep. 66 Warrior! Warrior ! stay thine arm !

Sheathe, O sheathe thy frantic sword !" Wand. " Ah! I rave !-I faint !-the charm

Flies, and memory is restored!

Yes, to agony restored
From the too transporting charm :-
Sleep for ever, O my sword !
Be thou wither'd, O mine arm !

SWITZERLAND is but a name!

-Yet I feel, where'er I roam,


heart is still the same, SWITZERLAND is still my

home !"

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There is a calm for those who

weep, A rest for weary Pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep

Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky

more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose,

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed.

From all my toil.


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