The traveler to a foreign clime now reverent stands beside
The noble statue of a bard, a nation’s love and pride;
Unto whose living works both worlds in admiration turn,
Philosophy, through beauty’s form and music’s tone, to learn.
In calm, colossal grandeur towers that statue on the spot
Where once a youthful poet stood to mourn his hapless lot—
From whence he fled a fugitive, stamped with the rebel’s name,
There Schiller dead, yet living, speaks his own immortal fame.