On the Lake

The boat rounded a bend and Urirotstock

towered in its snow. "Canton Uri!

da ist Canton Uri!" thrillingly

cried out the farmer native of Altdorf

and oh today his thrilling voice

is ringing in my torpor: would to God

that I will once cry for my towering city

such a cry I heard at Urirotstock.

Freedom of course was in it, and quixotic

labor endured as a thing of course

to live among those snows, and fatherly

anxious affection for a pretty daughter.

There is the Tell Marker on the right!

and the white Alps behind us, all around,

and worst in front, like an Obstacle.

Everything says, This world is not for cowards.

Everything is quiet on the lake

that is shining awestruck in my mind's eye,

and everything says, This world is not for thieves,

as softly we steam into Flüellen.