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THE CHIMES OF LUCERNE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

In the language of the bell,

How the Swiss had earned their Lion,

How they fought and how they fell.

But the darkness gathers deeper,

And the chill that tells the morn

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Settled from the distant mountains,

Cut more closely by the dawn.

Then the real and the fantastic

Were distinguished to the ken,

And the creamy sky of morning

Shone where inky cliffs had been.

And the lake was shorn of silver,

But the splashing crests of blue

Showed the transformation ending,

And the night as nearly through.

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