Near The Outlet Of The Lake Of Thun
Around a wild and woody hill
A gravelled pathway treading,
We reached a votive Stone that bears
The name of Aloys Reding.
Well judged the Friend who placed it there
For silence and protection;
And haply with a finer care
Of dutiful affection.
The Sun regards it from the West;
And, while in summer glory
He sets, his sinking yields a type
Of that pathetic story:
And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss
Amid the grove to linger;
Till all is dim, save this bright Stone
Touched by his golden finger.