Written In The Mountains Of The Tyrol

A Heart the world of men had bound and sealed
With shameful stamp and miserable chain,
Here, mother Nature, is to Thee revealed,
Open to Thee; oh! be it not in vain.
Flow over it, ye Torrents,--though I fear,
That be your course as fierce as e'er it may,
The sorrow--stains engrained there many a year
Your force can never, never, wash away:
Then come, ye Mountains, ye half--heavenly Forms,
Based in deep lakes and woods, and crowned with storms,
Close on it,--cover,--seal it up again,
But with the signet of your own pure power,
So that unbroken, till the' all--searching hour
Of Death, that impress may on it remain.

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