Classic Poem

The larches are green, and the lilacs have blown,
And over the hillsides young summer has shone;
So joyous, so glowing the welcome we bring, —
As warm as our summer, as fresh as our spring!

No breath from the glacier shall waft us its chill.
Though jung-frau remembers her vanquisher still;
Our skies have an azure as deep as his own,
And bright eyes have beamed for him, blue as the Rhone.

We clasp him once more to the heart of the West;
The rose of the Alps is for Liberty's breast.
A home for his thought like the cloudrending peak,
His smile like the sunbeam that rests on its cheek!