BY ADEL人工智能DE ANNE PROCTER.
Girt round with rugged1 mountains The fair Lake Constance lies； In her blue heart reflected, Shine back the starry2 skies；
And, watching each white cloudlet Float silently and slow, You think a piece of Heaven Lies on our earth below！
Midnight is there： and Silence, Enthroned in Heaven, looks down Upon her own calm mirror, Upon a sleeping town：
For Bregenz, that quaint3 city Upon the Tyrol shore, Has stood above Lake Constance A thousand years and more.
Her battlements and towers, From off their rocky steep, Have cast their trembling shadow For ages on the deep.
Mountain and lake and valley A sacred legend know, Of how the town was saved one night Three hundred years ago.
Far from her home and kindred A Tyrol maid had fled, To serve in the Swiss valleys, And toil4 for daily bread；
And every year that fleeted So silently and fast Seemed to bear farther from her The memory of the Past.
She spoke5 no more of Bregenz With longing6 and with tears； Her Tyrol home seemed faded In a deep mist of years；
Yet, when her master's children Would clustering round her stand She sang them ancient ballads7 Of her own native land；
And when at morn and evening She knelt before God's throne, The accents of her childhood Rose to her lips alone.
And so she dwelt： the valley More peaceful year by year； When suddenly strange portents8 Of some great deed seemed near.
One day, out in the meadow, With strangers from the town Some secret plan discussing, The men walked up and down.
At eve they all as百度竞价推广bled； Then care and doubt were fled； With jovial9 laugh they feasted： The board was nobly spread.
The elder of the village Rose up, his glass in hand, And cried, We drink the downfall Of an accursed land！
The night is growing darker； Ere one more day is flown, Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, Bregenz shall be our own！
The women shrank in terror （Yet Pride, too, had her part）, But one poor Tyrol maiden10 Felt death within her heart.
Nothing she heard around her （Though shouts rang forth11 again）； Gone were the green Swiss valleys, The pasture and the plain；
Before her eyes one vision, And in her heart one cry That said, Go forth！ save Bregenz, And then, if need be, die！
With trembling haste and breathless, With noiseless step she sped； Horses and weary cattle Were standing12 in the shed；
She loosed the strong white charger That fed from out her hand； She mounted, and she turned his head Toward her native land.
Outout into the darkness Faster, and still more fast； The smooth grass flies behind her, The chestnut13 wood is past；
She looks up； clouds are heavy； Why is her steed so slow？ Scarcely the wind beside them Can pass them as they go.
Faster！ she cries, oh, faster！ Eleven the church bells chime； O God, she cries, help Bregenz, And bring me there in time！
But louder than bells' ringing, Or lowing of the kine, Grows nearer in the midnight The rushing of the Rhine.
She strives to pierce the blackness, And looser throws the rein14； Her steed must breast the waters That dash above his mane.
How gallantly15, how nobly, He struggles through the foam16！ And seein the far distance Shine out the lights of home！
Up the steep bank he bears her, And now they rush again Toward the heights of Bregenz That tower above the plain.
They reach the gates of Bregenz Just as the midnight rings, And out come serf and soldier To meet the news she brings.
Bregenz is saved！ Ere daylight Her battlements are manned； Defiance17 greets the army That marches on the land.
Three hundred years are vanished, And yet upon the hill An old stone gateway18 rises To do her honor still.
And there, when Bregenz women Sit spinning in the shade, They see in quaint old carving19 The Charger and the Maid.
And when, to guard old Bregenz By gateway, street, and tower, The warder paces all night long And calls each passing hour,
Nine, ten, eleven, he cries aloud, And then （oh, crown of fame！）, When midnight pauses in the skies, He calls the maiden's name！
