Many burning glances shyly
From the windows fall upon us;
But the heart is wildly yearning
Homeward, homeward for the mountains,
As at Strasburg on the bulwarks
When the Alpine horn was blowing.
Willingly would I give up all,
Earnest money, silver scudi,
E'en the Holy Father's blessing,
E'en the wine of Orvieto
Which pearls sweetly in the goblet,
Could I once again be chasing
Boldly on their tracks the chamois
O'er the rocks, near avalanches,
On the craggy steep Pilatus;
Or steal gently in the moonlight
Over fragrant Alpine meadows
To the faintly-lighted cottage,
To the dairy-maid, the light-haired
Kunigund of Appenzell;
And then greet the golden sunrise
With a joyful heartfelt jodel.
Oh Saint Peter, thy fine music
I should miss without regretting,
Could I hear again the well-known
Sharp shrill whistle of the marmot
In its lonely Alpine cave!"

On the steps of the cathedral
Stood in crowds close packed together
Elegant and idle dandies,
Holding muster over all the
Carriages and great state coaches
Which came quickly driving up there.
"Do you see the Eminenza
With that round face like the full moon,
With the double chin, he's leaning
On the servant in rich livery?
'Tis the Cardinal Borghese.
He would rather now be sitting
Quiet in the Sabine mountains
In the airy villa by the
Rural beauty Donna Baldi.
He's a man of taste, a scholar,
Loves the classics, and especially
Doth he love the true Bucolic."

"Who is that?" now asked another,
"That imposing-looking person?
Don't you see there what a splendid
Chain of honour he is wearing;
How he shakes his periwig now
Like th' Olympian Jupiter?"
"What, you do not known him?" answered
Then loquaciously another,
"Him, the Chevalier Bernini?
Who has just restored the Pantheon,
Who upon St. Peter's also
Has bestowed such rich adornments,
And the golden tabernacle
Built o'er Peter's grave, which cost more
Than a hundred thousand scudi.
Take your hat off! Since the world was,
Has she seen no greater master,
Nor--" He was then interrupted
By a man with gray moustaches,
Wh