Classic Poem

The gallant Count of Greiers—he looked at break of day,
From the doorway of his castle to where the mountains lay,
He saw their peaks all kindled in the morning's ruddy sheen,
And in a doubtful twilight lay the Alpine vales between.

‘O Alps! eternal mountains! how long I to be there;
O happy are your children, the herd and cottage fair;
Oft have I looked upon you with bosom all at rest,
But now a longing like a love is kindling in my breast.’

And near and nearer opens sweet music on his ear,
The shepherd and the shepherdess, they come the castle near,
And on the lofty terraces they form a circling ring,
And there white arms are glancing, and garlands fluttering

The youngest village maidens—so fair and young were they!—
They took the noble by the hand, he must with them away;
And round him wound the circle, till in the midst was he:
‘Ha! gallant Count of Greiers, our prisoner must thou be!’

They bore him from the castle with dance, and laugh, and song,
They danced throughout the villages and through the village throng,
They danced across the meadows, they danced through wood and spray,
Until far up within the Alps the music died away.

Dawned hath the second morning, the third is coming on—
Why stays the Count of Greiers, where hath the gallant gone?
Lo! downwards unto evening the sultry sun has past,
It thunders in the mountains, the lightning flashes fast.

The vaults of heaven are opened, the stream is raging white,
And as the jagged lightning lays bare the breast of night,
A man is in the whirlpool seen, who strives with might and main,
Until a branch he seizes, and reaches shore again.

‘Here am I, from the bosom of the mountains swept along!
The deadly storm descended midst mirth, and dance, and song;
Ye all are hid, my comrades, in hut and rocky cave,
I—only I—was borne away by yon devouring wave.

‘Farewell, ye verdant mountains, with all your happy crew!
Farewell, ye three most blessed days, when a shepherd's life I knew!
O never, never was I born to dwell in such a heaven,
As that from which with lightning wrath and anger I am driven.

‘Rest thou, O fairest Alpine rose, unsullied by my hand!
I feel—the chilling torrent, it quenches not this brand!
No more amidst that witching band, no more with thee I roam,
Take me into thy loneliness, thou old and empty home!’

The gallant Count of Greiers—he looked at break of day,
From the doorway of his castle to where the mountains lay,
He saw their peaks all kindled in the morning's ruddy sheen,
And in a doubtful twilight lay the Alpine vales between.

‘O Alps! eternal mountains! how long I to be there;
O happy are your children, the herd and cottage fair;
Oft have I looked upon you with bosom all at rest,
But now a longing like a love is kindling in my breast.’

And near and nearer opens sweet music on his ear,
The shepherd and the shepherdess, they come the castle near,
And on the lofty terraces they form a circling ring,
And there white arms are glancing, and garlands fluttering

The youngest village maidens—so fair and young were they!—
They took the noble by the hand, he must with them away;
And round him wound the circle, till in the midst was he:
‘Ha! gallant Count of Greiers, our prisoner must thou be!’

They bore him from the castle with dance, and laugh, and song,
They danced throughout the villages and through the village throng,
They danced across the meadows, they danced through wood and spray,
Until far up within the Alps the music died away.

Dawned hath the second morning, the third is coming on—
Why stays the Count of Greiers, where hath the gallant gone?
Lo! downwards unto evening the sultry sun has past,
It thunders in the mountains, the lightning flashes fast.

The vaults of heaven are opened, the stream is raging white,
And as the jagged lightning lays bare the breast of night,
A man is in the whirlpool seen, who strives with might and main,
Until a branch he seizes, and reaches shore again.

‘Here am I, from the bosom of the mountains swept along!
The deadly storm descended midst mirth, and dance, and song;
Ye all are hid, my comrades, in hut and rocky cave,
I—only I—was borne away by yon devouring wave.

‘Farewell, ye verdant mountains, with all your happy crew!
Farewell, ye three most blessed days, when a shepherd's life I knew!
O never, never was I born to dwell in such a heaven,
As that from which with lightning wrath and anger I am driven.

‘Rest thou, O fairest Alpine rose, unsullied by my hand!
I feel—the chilling torrent, it quenches not this brand!
No more amidst that witching band, no more with thee I roam,
Take me into thy loneliness, thou old and empty home!’