In the bright face of nature!-Lift my helm, With the green shining laurel, when their brows Constance. Oh! speak not thus--to die! (She attempts to bind his wounds.) Look on me, love! 'Tis full of hope! and from thy kindled eye Raimond. 'Tis e'en so! First Attendant (to Second Attendant). Lay The parting soul doth gather all her fires him to rest looks Had fallen, like blights, upon me.-There is one, CONSTANCE enters, speaking to a NUN, who turns into Constance. Oh! happy they, kind sister, Beats proudly to the last!-There are high souls Around her: all her glorious hopes, and dreams The shadowy dimness of th' untrodden path Constance. Say, not vain; The dying look not thus. We shall not part! Raimond. I have seen death ere now, and known him wear Full many a changeful aspect. Constance. Oh! but none Radiant as thine, my warrior!-Thou wilt live! Raimond. Ay, gentlest love, a world Almost too fair to leave!-Yet must we tame Constance. And must this be? Raimond. Constance! there is strength Thy grief unmans me-and I fain would meet Young warrior, is there aught-thou here, my-It is upon me now! Thou here-and thus!-Oh! is this joy or wo? E'en on the grave's dim verge!-yes! it is joy! now Constance. I will be calm. Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond, PROCIDA and ANSELMO enter. PROCIDA on seeing From which the eye doth radiantly unclose: RAIMOND starts back. Anselmo. Lift up thy head, Brave youth, exultingly! for lo! thine hour Raimond. 'Tis enough! Rejoice, (He sinks back.) To thy breast Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart Hath touched my veins. me, Raimond? Constance. And must thou leave Alas! thine eye grows dim-Its wandering glance Is full of dreams. Raimond. Haste, haste, and tell my father I was no traitor! Procida (rushing forward). To that father's heart Return, forgiving all thy wrongs, return! not meet Bow down thy soul, for earthly hope is o'er! (The music continues approaching. Guide enters, with Citizens and Soldiers.) Guido. The shrines are decked, the festive torches blaze Where is our brave deliverer?-We are come Anselmo. Ye come too late. The voice of human praise doth send no echo Into the world of spirits. (The music ceases.) Procida (after a pause). Is this dust I look on-Raimond!-'tis but sleep-a smile Constance (starting). Art thou his father? I know thee now.-Hence! with thy dark stern eye, And thy cold heart!-Thou canst not wake him He knew thy heart-but who shall tell him now To force an answer from the viewless world Of the departed?-Raimond!—Speak! forgive! The mightiest hearts!-My son! my son! is this (He throws himself upon the body of Raimond). [Curtain falls The League of the Alps, OR THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRÜTLI. ADVERTISEMENT. Whose pealing echoes through the larcr-woods To the low cabins of the glens made known gone, By cliff and pine-bridge, to their place of rest; It was in the year 1308, that the Swiss rose against the tyranny of the Bailiffs appointed over them by Albert of Austria. The field called the Grütli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Uri and Unterwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Fürst (the And the rock-eagle couched, high on his cloudy father-in-law of William Tell), Werner Stauffacher, and Erni (or Arnold) Melchthal, as their place of meeting, to deliberate on the accomplishment of their projects. "Hither came Fürst and Melchthal, along secret paths over the heights, and Stauffacher in his boat across the Lake of the Four Cantons. On the night preceding the 11th of November, 1307, they met here, each with ten associates, men of approved worth; and while at this solemn hour they were wrapt in the contemplation that on their success depended the fate of their whole posterity, Werner, Walter, and Arnold held up their hands to heaven, and in the name of the Almighty, who has created man to an inalienable degree of freedom, swore jointly and strenuously to defend that freedom. The thirty associates heard the oath with awe; and with uplifted hands attested the same God, and all his saints, that they were firmly bent on offering up their lives for the defence of their injured liberty. They then calmly agreed on their future proceedings, and for the present, each returned to his hamlet."-Planta's History of the Helvetic Confe deracy. On the first day of the year 1308, they succeeded in throwing off the Austrian yoke, and "it is well attested," says the same author, "that not one drop of blood was shed on this memorable occasion, nor had one proprietor to lament the loss of a claim, a privilege, or an inch of land. The Swiss met on the succeeding sabbath, and once more confirmed by oath their ancient, and (as they fondly named it) their perpetual league." I. 'Twas night upon the Alps.-The Senn's (1) wild horn, nest. II. Did the land sleep?-the woodman's axe had Its ringing notes upon the beech and plane; Up where the sun's red fire-glance earliest fell, Like a wind's voice, had poured its last long And the fresh pastures, where the herd's swew XIII. Calmly they stood, and with collected mien, Breathing their souls in voices firm but low, As if the spirit of the hour and scene, With the wood's whisper, and the wave's sweet flow, Had tempered in their thoughtful hearts the glow Of all indignant feeling. To the breath Of Dorian flute, and lyre-note soft and slow, E'en thus, of old, the Spartan from its sheath Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death. XIV. And three, that seemed as chieftains of the band, Of youth with sorrow.-Yet from memory's lore Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams, For he had walked with God, beside the mountain streams. XV. And his gray hairs, in happier times, might well To their last pillow silently have gone, As melts a wreath of snow.-But who shall tell How life may task the spirit?-He was one, Who from its morn a freeman's work had done, And reaped his harvest, and his vintage pressed, Fearless of wrong;-and now, at set of sun, He bowed not to his years, for on the breast Of a still chainless land, he deemed it much to rest. XVI. But for such holy rest strong hands must toil, Strong hearts endure!-By that pale eller's side, Stood one that seemed a monarch of the soil, Serene and stately in his manhood's pride, Werner,(4) the brave and true!-If men have died, Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep, He was a mate for such.-The voice, that cried Within his breast, "Arise!" came still and deep From his far home, that smiled, e'en then, in moonlight sleep. XVII. It was a home to die for!-as it rose, When o'er his soul its melodies went by, As through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy. XVIII. But who was he, that on his hunting-spear Leaned 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 seemed, and loftier daring, One whose blood swept high impulses along, One that should pass, and leave a name for war. like song, XIX. A memory on the mountains!-one to stand, When the hills echoed with the deepening swell Of hostile trumpets, foremost for the land, And in some rock-defile, or savage dell, Array her peasant-children to repel Th' invader, sending arrows for his chains! Ay, one to fold around him, as he fell, Her banner with a smile-for through his veins The joy of danger flowed, as torrents to the plains. XX. There was at times a wildness in the light worn The mantling snows on their most regal steeps, And tracked the lynx above the clouds of morn, And followed where the flying chamois leaps Across the dark-blue rifts, th' unfathomed glacierdeeps. XXI. He was a creature of the Alpine sky, A being, whose bright spirit had been fed 'Midst the crowned heights with joy and liberty, And thoughts of power.-He knew each path which led To the rock's treasure caves, whose crystals shed Soft light o'er secret fountains.-At the tone Of his loud horn, the Lämmer-Geyer (6) had spread A startled wing; for oft that peal had blown Where the free cataract's voice was wont to sound alone. XXII. His step had tracked the waste, his soul had stirred The ancient solitudes-his voice had told |