Classic Poem

My hour of life is nearly past,—
I shrink not from my doom:
The men of many lands will make
A pilgrim-shrine my tomb;
My name will be in coming time
The watchword of the free;
The mountains of my rugged home
My monuments will be.

I have not borne a tyrant's thrall,
But stood for liberty—
Among our mountains and our rocks,
Where slaves can never be;
I stood as stood the Switzer bold,
When Uri's horn did swell,—
I fought, I bled—my name will live
With that of William Tell.

Death! what is death in freedom's cause?—
For thee, mine own Tyrol,
Had I thousand, thousand lives,
Oh! I would give the whole.
I die, as men should proudly do,
For home and liberty,—
I sow the seed that yet shall grow
And make my country free.

Farewell, my craggy native hills,
My children all, farewell:
That Hofer was your father's name
Full proudly ye may tell.
Fare-well, ye mountains heart-enshrined,—
God ! shield a freeman's soul!
I die in joy—I die for thee—
My own—my wild Tyrol!