Sink, sullen rear-guard of the storm,
Behind the Laugen's snowy crest!
Already Rotheck's lordly form
Stands spotless in the radiant west;
Blow, winter wind, and clarify
Our crystal air, our sapphire sky!

Shine, Sun God! Give us life once more!
Too long have clouds concealed thy face;
Give to Meran the look she wore,
When to her beauty, light, and grace
I gladly yielded heart and soul,
And made my home in fair Tyrol!

Stupendous source of life and light!
As in thy warmth my pulses thrill,
Before thy glory and thy might
I feel myself a Pagan still,
And in my spirit's inmost shrine
I half adore thee as divine.

THE HOME-COMING FROM ROME

Make haste! There is but one more turning!
The horses cannot go too fast,
So eagerly our hearts are yearning
To see the longed-for home at last!

Here is the shrine, the lamp still burning,
Beside the vineyard's massive wall;
And see, to welcome our returning,
The banners on the flagstaffs tall!

Before the gate, our servants, wearing
Their brightest smiles, together stand,
In quaint, Tyrolean style preparing
To kiss respectfully the hand.

Now, too, the dogs perceive their master,
And rush to meet our carriage wheels;
The loyal Leo first and faster,
The dackels close upon his heels!

How wild the joy, how loud the chorus
Our old, familiar tones excite!
Dear, faithful creatures that adore us,
How genuine their keen delight!

The door is passed, the hall is entered!
How true it is, where'er we roam,
That here alone our hearts are centered,
That no place hath the charm of Home!

Here smile the pictures ranged above us;
Here stand our books, the best of friends;
Here those we love and those who love us
Are happy that our absence ends.

We prize the intellectual treasures
On History's famous sites amassed;
And precious are the varied pleasures
From Art's great glories of the past;

But well we know, when once more seated
Within these rooms with volumes lined,
That,--now the journey is completed--,
The best of Rome is in the mind.

MY GARDEN

Sweet garden, wreathed in fruits and flowers,
And domed by blue Tyrolean skies,
Within thy rose-encircled bowers,
Secluded from all curious eyes,
I find a peaceful paradise.

Without, the world's fierce strife and yearning
In floods of passion ebb and flow;
Within, as in a shrine, is burning,--
Reflecting fires of long ago,--
A stormy life's calm afterglow.

How sumptuous is the golden splendor