To*** Upon the Alps in Splügen 1829

So never may I bid thee now farewell:
Thou follow’st me through every mount and dell,
I see thee on the Alpine glaciers tall,
I hear thy voice in every waterfall;
My heart throbs heav’ly when I turn around
To see thee but I’m scared to hear a sound.
Ungrateful thou! While in these mountains high,
I lose my way beneath the somber sky,
Or, weary so, step down a mountain slope,
I raise my head toward the skies and hope
To see the Northern Star that pilots me,
To find Lithuania, thy house and thee.