XII. Now had endurance reach'd its bounds!-They came With courage set in each bright earnest eye, The stars, the waves their soften'd light enshrining, XIII. Calmly they stood, and with collected mien, With the wood's whisper, and the wave's sweet flow, Of Dorian flute, and lyre-note soft and slow, Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death. XIV. And three, that seem'd as chieftains of the band, By Uri's lake—a father of the land,3 3 One on his brow the silent record wore Of many days, whose shadows had pass'd o'er His path amongst the hills, and quench'd the dreams Of youth with sorrow.-Yet from memory's lore Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams, For he had walk'd with God, beside the mountain streams. XV. And his grey hairs, in happier times, might well As melts a wreath of snow.-But who shall tell XVI. But for such holy rest strong hands must toil, Stood one that seem'd a monarch of the soil, He was a mate for such.-The voice, that cried From his far home, that smil'd, e'en then, in moonlight sleep. XVII. It was a home to die for!-as it rose, As through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy. XVIII. But who was he, that on his hunting-spear Lean'd with a prouder and more fiery bearing? -His was a brow for tyrant-hearts to fear, Within the shadow of its dark locks wearing That which they may not tame-a soul declaring War against earth's oppressors.-'Midst that throng, Of other mould he seem'd, and loftier daring, One whose blood swept high impulses along, One that should pass, and leave a name for warlike song, XIX. A memory on the mountains !-one to stand, Array her peasant children to repel Th' invader, sending arrows for his chains! Her banner with a smile-for through his veins XX. There was at times a wildness in the light Of his quick-flashing eye; a something, born Of the free Alps, and beautifully bright, And proud, and tameless, laughing Fear to scorn! It well might be !-Young Erni's step had worn The mantling snows on their most regal steeps, And track'd the lynx above the clouds of morn, And follow'd where the flying chamois leaps Across the dark-blue rifts, th' unfathom'd glacier-deeps. XXI. He was a creature of the Alpine sky, A being, whose bright spirit had been fed 'Midst the crown'd heights with joy and liberty, And thoughts of power. He knew each path which led Soft light o'er secret fountains.—At the tone A startled wing; for oft that peal had blown Where the free cataract's voice was wont to sound alone. |