Classic Poem

Throw up the glassy casement wide,
And fling the heavy blinds aside,
To let the sunshine and the tide
Of music through the chamber glide.
Oh, list! it is a maiden young,
Who singeth in a foreign tongue;
She poureth songs in strangest guise,
In words translated by her eyes.
Come, youth and childhood, form the ring,
And, maidens, from the window lean,
To bid the exile Switzer sing,
And strike the trembling tambourine!
The glistening azure in her eye
Hath something of her native sky;
The music of the rill and breeze
Are mingled in her melodies;
And in her form's tall graceful lines
There's something of the mountain pines;
And, oh, believe her soul may glow
As purely as the Alpine snow.
Come, youth and childhood, form the ring,
And, maidens, from the window lean,
To bid the exile Switzer sing,
And strike the trembling tambourine!

Oh, gaze not on her scornfully,
For, gentle lady, like to thee,
That wandering maiden well may be
Acquaint with pain and misery,—
And sad remembrance prompts the lay
That telleth of the far away;
While wildly in her music swell
The glory, name, and land of Tell!
Then, youth and childhood, form the ring,
And, maidens, from the window lean,
To bid the exile Switzer sing,
And strike the trembling tambourine!