Ir chanced upon a summer day
I sat beneath a leafy tree;
Around ran girls and boys at play,
Hither and thither joyously.
Their shouts of gladness rose and fell,
And pleasant task it were to tell
Of all their sport and glee:
But speeding from the active throng,
A happy boy came swift along,
And halting at my knee
He laid his hand upon my book,
And said, with childhood's wistful look, "You promised us another tale, Oh, tell it now; you cannot fail A story for a summer day, "T will be delightful, after play."
"Go call the rest," I said, and soon
Each happy lad and lass
Was seated, all expectant, on
The daisy-sprinkled grass.
Dear children, yes-I know a tale,
Will make your little cheeks grow pale;
And from your eyes the tears shall flow,
To hear of suffering and woe;
And then your hearts shall proudly burn
Of noble deeds and thoughts to learn:
How men maintained their native right,
Against a haughty tyrant's might:
How humble hearts may yet be free,
And dare and do for liberty.
"Tis near six hundred years ago
The Austrian emperor Rudolf died;
And left his pride, and pomp, and show,
And all his empire far and wide
To Albert-one of princely fame,
Yet rests a blot upon his name:
Rudolf had gained the people's love,
But Albert cared no faith to prove;
His passion knew nor bound nor bar,
He loved not gentle peace, but war.
Had he been wise he would have known,
The truly great leave war alone,
And he perchance had 'scaped the strife
When envious kinsmen took his life.
For lust of power oft sorrow brings,
And teaches while it humbles kings.
Now at that time in Switzerland,
Where snow-capped mountains proudly stand,
There dwelt a loyal-hearted race,
Who tilled the fields, and led the chase.
Their manners simple, wants but few,
Their nature brave, their courage true.
Far down in deeply-sheltered vales,
Or on the slopes of rocky dales,
Or high upon the mountains rude
Their rustic cots-their shelter stood.
And sweet affections round each hearth,
And freedom's virtues there had birth;
True guardians of their native home,'
Whatever foes or dangers come.
But Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwald-
These three the Forest Cantons called,-
Did most for liberty aspire,
And glow with patriotic fire:
Each was to each a trusty friend,
In weal to serve, in woe defend.
No servile art was theirs to bring
False homage to a potent king:
For justice, mercy, truth-alone
Can knit a people to a throne.
With envy kaiser Albert saw
These people's land, and sturdy law;
He longed to make their hills and plains
A portion of his own domains.
He tempted them with crafty speech,
But they of ancient treaties teach:
He sought to purchase them with gold,
They spurned his proffers brave and bold.
In anger, then, he sent a threat;
But nobly they his envoy met,
And shewed the archives of their land,
And vowed the intruder to withstand.
More fiercely kindled Albert's wrath,
To meet such firmness in his path;
Nor did he shrink from further wrong,
For they were weak and he was strong.
So sent he rulers in his name,
The Cantons' hardy pride to tame:
And Gessler came, and Beringar,
The joys of peace to mock and mar.
To Uri Gessler came as lord,
To spread his master Albert's sway;
Nor spared he either fire or sword,
To force the people to obey.
Such sternness in his heart he brought,
"Twere sad to tell the woes he wrought:
He tortured men, and wives, and girls;
He called them base-born peasant churls.
"I vow," he said, "their roofs shall smoke,
And on their necks I'll fix the yoke.
Shall they who tend but goats or kine
Against my searching law combine?
Their vaunted pride shall end in shame;
The dungeon shall their spirit tame."
The Unterwalders murmured then,
Through Schwyz a voice in every glen-
And Uri asks, with all her men,—
"How long shall we be slaves?
Better than bend a servile knee,
Forget what freedom's pleasure be,
Or honest thought suppress, that we
Were sleeping in our graves!
Shall bondage fetter us who scale
The heights where eagles breast the gale
With proudly-beating wing?
Nay! we appeal to One on high,
In whose sight men all equal lie-
The peasant and the king:
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