AT THE VILLA OF THE EMPEROR FREDERICK III AT SAN REMO

San Remo's palms in beauty stand

Beside the storied sea,

Where azure band and golden sand

Are wedded ceaselessly;

For from the deep, which seems to sleep,

The slow waves, long and low,

Their journeys done, break one by one

In rhythmic ebb and flow.

Before me lies a fair retreat,

Whose every breath brings balm

From plants replete with odors sweet

And many a fronded palm;

Hence at its gate I, spellbound, wait

To feast my gladdened eyes

On buds that wake and flowers that make

A perfumed paradise.

Alas, that love could not avail

To guard this sweet repose!

That strength should fail, and life prove frail

And fleeting as the rose!

So fair! and yet, who can forget

The heir to Prussia's throne,

Who here fought death with labored breath,

And faced the great Unknown?

O Spirit of the Fatherland,

O love that changeth not,

Thy filial hand hath made this strand

A consecrated spot;

For on the wall, where roses fall,

Bronze words recall his fate,—

A sceptre won... when life was done,

An empire gained... too late!

“Halt, wanderer from a German shore!”

( Thus runs the sad refrain,)

“Here dwelt thine Emperor, here he bore

With fortitude his pain;

Hear'st thou the lone, low monotone

Of billows tempest-tossed?

In that long roll the German soul

Still mourns for him she lost.”

San Remo's stately palms still rise

Beside the storied shore;

But he now lies‘ neath northern skies,

At peace forevermore,

In that calm, deep, untroubled sleep,

Whose secret none may know,

While, one by one,— their courses run,—

The long waves ebb and flow.