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THE CHIMES OF LUCERNE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

Brilliant in the saintly night.

And the dizzy Mount Pilatus,

Half concealed by surging clouds,

Looked like Pilate or false Judas,

Living victims in their shrouds.

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Through Lucerne the chimes rang faintly,

And then faded in the gray

Of the strange, uncertain darkness

All the mountains quite away.

And the cheery cry recalled one

To this weary world once more,

But to leave it when the echoes

Crept to silence and were o'er.

And again the moon's pale shimmer

Showed bold Rigi to the eye

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