LOVE TRIUMPHANT
A SWISS TRADITION.
Of night’s descending diadem Shone in the west one lonely gem,— Roused at the breezy call of morn, Above the horizon’s eastern bound The sun shot up his golden horn, And with a wreath of glory crown’d The snowy locks of far Shreckhorn, While, slumbering in the gloom profound, The nearer Alps like giants lay, Nor even the lark had hailed the day;
Rolled o’er the lake the sullen swell Of Interlaken’s matin-bell,— With flapping wing and accent shrill The startled wild-bird sought the sky, And the roused echoes of the hill With all their voices gave reply,— Before the morning-breezes chill A lordly skiff went flashing by, And entered soon the cloistered hall, The lord of castled Schamalhthal.
And with him came his pensive spouse To see the fearful convent-vows
