What would the minstrel's Father-land?
She would strike the base slaves to the ground
Chase from her soil the tyrant hound,
And free her sons in shackles bound,
Or lay them free beneath her sand:
That would my Father-land.
And hopes the minstrel's Father-land?
She hopes for holy Freedom's sake,
Hopes that her true sons will awake,
Hopes that just God will vengeance take,
And ne'er mistakes the Avenger's hand:
Thereon relies my Father-land.
MY HEART'S ON THE RHINE
[From the German of Wolfgang Muller.]
My heart's on the Rhine--in the old Father-land;
Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand,
My youth and my friends--they are there yet, I know,
And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow;
O there where I reveled in song and in wine!
Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
I hail thee, thou broad-breasted, golden-green stream;
Ye cities and churches and castles that gleam;
Ye grain-fields of gold in the valley so blue;
Ye vineyards that glow in the sun-shimmered dew;
Ye forests and caverns and cliffs that were mine!
Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
I hail thee, O life of the soul-stirring song,
Of waltz and of wine, with a yearning so strong,
Hail, ye stout race of heroes, so brave and so true.
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