ON A PAIR OF ANTLERS,
BROUGHT FROM GERMANY.
Gift, from the land of song and wine,—
Can I forget the enchanted day,
When first along the glorious Rhine
I heard the huntsman's bugle play,
And marked the early star that dwells
Among the cliffs of Drachenfels!
Again the isles of beauty rise;—
Again the crumbling tower appears,
That stands, defying stormy skies,
With memories of a thousand years,
And dark old forests wave again,
And shadows crowd the dusky plain.
They brought the gift that I might hear
The music of the roaring pine,—
To fill again my charmèd ear
With echoes of the Rodenstein,—
With echoes of the silver horn,—
Across the wailing waters borne.
Trophies of spoil! henceforth your place
Is in this quiet home of mine;—
Farewell the busy, bloody chase,
Mute emblems now of "auld lang syne,"
When Youth and Hope went hand in hand
To roam the dear old German land.