To Switzerland, the land of lakes and snow, br And ancient freedom of ancestral type, br And modern innkeepers, who cringe and bow, br And venal echoes, and Pans paid to pipe! br See, I am come. And here in vineyards, ripe br With sweet white grapes, I will sit down and read br Once more the loves of Rousseau, till I wipe br My eyes in tenderness for names long dead. br This is the birthplace of all sentiment, br The fount of modern tears. These hills in me br Stir what still lives of fancy reverent br For Mother Nature. Here Time's minstrelsy br Awoke, some century since, one sunny morn, br To find Earth fortunate, and Man forlorn.