| |
| O’ER, foaming Reuss with waters green, | |
| There stood a bridge with friendly light, | |
| Fair beacon for the treacherous night, | |
| By traveller and boatman seen; | |
| Lucerna was its name, | 5 |
| Born of its lambent flame, | |
| True symbol of celestial sheen. | |
| |
| Here fair Helvetia’s city rose, | |
| Begirt with Roman wall and moat; | |
| In ancient days here Cæsar smote, | 10 |
| With arm of strength, all haughty foes,— | |
| And Roman valor still | |
| Inspires the common will, | |
| And nerves the arm for valiant blows. | |
| |
| But moat and wall of ancient day | 15 |
| In ruin lie; no signal light, | |
| As erst, illumes the darkling night; | |
| No feud invites the midnight fray; | |
| But mountain shadows fall, | |
| The wealth and joy of all,— | 20 |
| All nature smiles in sweet array. | |
| |
| And palaces in splendor rise, | |
| And rich cathedral, quaint and old, | |
| Whose organ-music doth unfold | |
| The heart, as message from the skies: | 25 |
| A thing of beauty we discern | |
| In the Lion of Lucerne, | |
| A joy forever to all eyes. | |
| |
| Wrought from the native granite rock, | |
| Danish Thorwaldsen’s masterpiece, | 30 |
| Couchant, transfixed, without surcease | |
| Of pain, struggles against the shock; | |
| And while for breath he gasps, | |
| Lily of France he grasps | |
| With ardent pressure ere he dies. | 35 |
| |
| Life pours from out the ghastly wound, | |
| His swollen eyes weep drops of blood, | |
| Fit emblem of the crimson flood | |
| That filled the Tuileries when the ground | |
| Lay thick with noble dead, | 40 |
| To cruel slaughter led, | |
| Touching with grief the wide world round. * * * * * | |
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