Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1830.pdf/9



Das Land, das Land, so hoffnungsgrun, Das Land wo meine Rosen bluhn, Wo meine Todten aufersteh'n, Wo meine Freunde wandelnd geh'n; Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht, Das theure Land—hier ist es nicht!

art thou? Tell me, where? Land of my native air, That I might feel thy breathing on my cheek! And ye, whose being's tone Would give me back my own, Where dwell ye, children of my country? Speak!

Show me your home, your place, O ye, my kindred race! —My spirit on the dust its wealth hath flung, Striving for words of power, A boundless love to shower O'er hearts that knew not e'en that feeling's tongue.

Along the sounding sea, And 'midst the mountains free, My voice finds echoes here; my soul hath none! Shrinking, I feel around, The solitude profound, Ev'n as a child on desert-plains alone.