Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 34, Page 858
II.
THE ALPINE HORN.
The Alpine Horn! the Alpine Horn!
Oh! through my native sky,
Might I but hear its free notes borne,
Once more—but once,—and die!
Yet, no! midst breezy hills thy breath,
So full of hope and morn,
Would win me from the bed of death—
O joyous Alpine Horn!
But here the echo of that blast,
To many a battle known,
Seems mournfully to wander past,
A wild, shrill, wailing tone!
Haunt me no more! for slavery's air
Thy proud notes were not born;
The dream but deepens my despair—
Be hush'd, thou Alpine Horn!
