III.
Epitaph on A Young Swiss Who Died at Madeira.
The exiled son of old Helvetia’s race1
Beheld these hills, and longed for Jura’s pile ;2
And soon, ’mid men of alien speech and face,3
He sank to death in this Atlantic isle.4
From country far, from friends compell’d to roam,5
Still she whom best he loved consoled his eyes ;6
And looking still to his eternal home,7
He found his childhood’s God in foreign skies.8