Gift, from the land of song and wine,—
⁠Can I forget the enchanted day,
When first along the glorious Rhine
⁠I heard the huntsman's bugle play,
And marked the early star that dwells
Among the cliffs of Drachenfels!

Again the isles of beauty rise;—
⁠Again the crumbling tower appears,
That stands, defying stormy skies,
⁠With memories of a thousand years,
And dark old forests wave again,
And shadows crowd the dusky plain.

​They brought the gift that I might hear
⁠The music of the roaring pine,—
To fill again my charmèd ear
⁠With echoes of the Rodenstein,—
With echoes of the silver horn,—
Across the wailing waters borne.

Trophies of spoil! henceforth your place
⁠Is in this quiet home of mine;—
Farewell the busy, bloody chase,
⁠Mute emblems now of "auld lang syne,"
When Youth and Hope went hand in hand
To roam the dear old German land.