Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? <br /> Oh, how soft and meek they look, <br />Feeding on the grassy sward, <br /> Sporting round the silvery brook! <br />"Mother, mother, let me go <br />On yon heights to chase the roe!" <br /> <br />Wilt thou not the flock compel <br /> With the horn's inspiring notes? <br />Sweet the echo of yon bell, <br /> As across the wood it floats! <br />"Mother, mother, let me go <br />On yon heights to hunt the roe!" <br /> <br />Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, <br /> Smiling gently in their bed? <br />For no garden thou wilt find <br /> On yon heights so wild and dread. <br />"Leave the flow'rets,--let them blow! <br />Mother, mother, let me go!" <br /> <br />And the youth then sought the chase, <br /> Onward pressed with headlong speed <br />To the mountain's gloomiest place,-- <br /> Naught his progress could impede; <br />And before him, like the wind, <br />Swiftly flies the trembling hind! <br /> <br />Up the naked precipice <br /> Clambers she, with footsteps light, <br />O'er the chasm's dark abyss <br /> Leaps with spring of daring might; <br />But behind, unweariedly, <br />With his death-bow follows he. <br /> <br />Now upon the rugged top <br /> Stands she,--on the loftiest height, <br />Where the cliffs abruptly stop, <br /> And the path is lost to sight. <br />There she views the steeps below,-- <br />Close behind, her mortal foe. <br /> <br />She, with silent, woeful gaze, <br /> Seeks the cruel boy to move; <br />But, alas! in vain she prays-- <br /> To the string he fits the groove. <br />When from out the clefts, behold! <br />Steps the Mountain Genius old. <br /> <br />With his hand the Deity <br />Shields the beast that trembling sighs; <br />"Must thou, even up to me, <br />Death and anguish send?" he cries,-- <br />Earth has room for all to dwell,-- <br />"Why pursue my loved gazelle?"<br /><br />Friedrich Schiller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-alpine-hunter/
