The Spell of Switzerland

by Nathan Haskell Dole

“‘La Liberté depuis les anciens ages

Jusqu’à ceux où flottent nos destins

Aime à poser ses pieds nus et sauvages

Sur les gazons qu’ombragent nos sapins.

Là, sa voix forte éclate et s’associe

Avec la foudre et ses roulements sourds.

Nous qui t’aimons, Helvétie, Helvétie,

Nous qui t’aimons, nous t’aimerons toujours.’

“That is a fine figure—Liberty loving to set her foot on the soil shaded by the Swiss pines,—and so is that of Helvetia mingling her voice with the rolling of the thunder. That stanza has been praised as one of the finest of the century.”

As we leisurely strolled homeward my nephew called my attention to the northern slope of the Flon, just beyond the magnificent bridge, Chauderon-Montbénon. “That,” he remarked, “is called Boston.”