Avoid thy secret way!
And sternly, till thy steps be past,
Its whirlwinds sleep to-day!
I would not that thy doom should be
Assign’d by heaven to aught but me.
ALP-HORN SONG.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF TIECK.
What dost thou here, brave Swiss?
Forgett’st thou thus thy native clime—
The lovely land of thy bright spring-time?