I will climb upon the mountains,
Where the quiet cabin stands,
Where the wind blows freely o'er us,
Where the heart at ease expands.

I will climb upon the mountains,
Where the sombre fir-trees grow;
Brooks are rustling, birds are singing,
And the wild clouds headlong go.

Then farewell, ye polished ladies,
Polished men and polished hall!
I will climb upon the mountains,
Smiling down upon you all.

The town of Göttingen, celebrated for its sausages and its University,
belongs to the King of Hanover, and contains nine hundred and
ninety-nine dwellings, divers churches, a lying-in hospital, an
observatory, a prison for students, a library, and a "Ratskeller," where
the beer is excellent. The stream which flows by the town is called the
Leine, and is used in summer for bathing, its waters being very cold,
and in more than one place it is so broad that Lüder was obliged to take
quite a run ere he could leap across. The town itself is beautiful, and
pleases most when one's back is turned to it. It must be very ancient,
for I well remember that five years ago, when I matriculated there (and
shortly after received notice to quit), it had already the same gray,
prim look, and was fully furnished with catch-polls, beadles,
dissertations, _thés dansants_, washerwomen, compendiums, roasted
pigeons, Guelphic orders, graduation coaches, pipe-heads,
court-councilors, law-councilors, expelling councilors, professors