THE SWITZER'S WIFE.

IT was the time when children bound to meet Their father's homeward step from field or hill, And when the herd's returning bells are sweet

In the Swiss valleys, and the lakes grow still, And the last note of that wild horn swells by, Which haunts the exile's heart with melody.

And lovely smiled full many an Alpine home, Touch'd with the crimson of the dying hour, Which lit its low roof by the torrent's foam, And pierced its lattice through the vine-hung bower;

But one, the loveliest o'er the land that rose, Then first look'd mournful in its green repose.

For Werner sat beneath the linden tree,

That sent its lulling whispers through his door, Even as man sits whose heart alone would be

With some deep care, and thus can find no more Th' accustom'd joy in all which evening brings, Gathering a household with her quiet wings.

His wife stood hush'd before him,-sad, yet mild In her beseeching mien ;-he mark'd it not. The silvery laughter of his bright-hair'd child Rang from the greensward round the shelter'd spot,