THE SWISS BOY'S FAREWELL. SWEET River Rhone! sweet River Rhone! And yet along thy banks I stray. That cradle which we both have known; And this, they say, is France; but still I'm with a friend whose every wave So like to heaven, sweet River Rhone! The glaciers at old Furca's top Did seem thy cold, blue, nursing mother, And thou an infant chill and lone, Toddling from one rough stone to t'other. *The source of the Rhone is at the foot of one of the Alps, called Mount Furca. But soon thou learned'st to leap and run, When I was there, sweet River Rhone! And now we've come together here, As lost to thee, sweet River Rhone! Farewell! nor deem them idle tears, That down my cheek unbidden flow; For now thou seem'st my dearest friend, Thou'rt linked with home and parents so. Farewell! but rest and ease shall be To these young limbs unsought, unknown, Till, blest with wealth, the Swiss return To home and thee, sweet River Rhone! |