A cloud came o'er the face Of Italy's rich heaven!-its crystal blue As with the wings of death!-in all his power Such things have been of yore, In the gay regions where the citrons blow, And where the palms to spicy winds are waving, Turn we to other climes! Far in the Druid-Isle a feast was spread, Were chanted to the harp; and yellow mead But, ere the giant-fane Cast its broad shadows on the robe of even, O'er that old burial-plain Flashed the keen Saxon dagger!-Blood was streaming For they returned no more! They that went forth at morn, with reckless heart, And the bright spears and bucklers of the walls, Fear ye the festal hour! Ay, tremble when the cup of joy o'erflows! And the rich myrtle's flower Have veiled the sword!--Red wines have sparkled fast With fatal perfume, through the revel's bower. Twine the young glowing wreath! But pour not all your spirit in the song, Which through the sky's deep azure floats along, 1 Stonehenge, said by some traditions to have been erected to the memory of Ambrosius, an early British king; and by others mentioned as a monumental record of the massacre of British chiefs here alluded to. Like summer's quickening breath! SONG OF THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN. ["In the year 1315, Switzerland was invaded by Duke Leopold of Austria, with a formidable army. It is well attested that this prince repeatedly declared 'he would trample the audacious rustics under his feet;' and that he had procured a large stock of cordage, for the purpose of binding their chiefs, and putting them to death. "The 15th October, 1315, dawned. The sun darted its first rays on the shields and armor of the advancing host; and this being the first army ever known to have attempted the frontiers of the cantons, the Swiss viewed its long line with various emotions. Montfort de Tettnang led the cavalry into the narrow pass, and soon filled the whole space between the mountain (Mount Sattel) and the lake. The fifty men on the eminence (above Morgarten) raised a sudden shout, and rolled down heaps of rocks and stones among the crowded ranks. The confederates on the mountain, perceiving the impression made by this attack, rushed down in close array, and fell upon the flank of the disordered column. With massy clubs they dashed in pieces the armor of the enemy, and dealt their blows and thrusts with long pikes. The narrowness of the defile admitted of no evolutions, and a slight frost having injured the road, the horses were impeded in all their motions; many leaped into the lake. a.l were startled; and at last the whole column gave way, and fell suddenly back on the infantry; and these last, as the nature of the country did not allow them to open their files, were run over by the fugitives, and many of them trampled to death. A general rout ensued, and Duke Leopold was, with much difficulty, rescued by a peasant, who led him to Winterthur, where the historian of the times saw him arrive in the evening, pale, sullen, and dismayed.”. PLANTA'S History of the Helvetic Confederacy.] In And the winds were tossing knightly plumes, Like the larch-boughs in their play. Hasli's wilds there was gleaming steel, As the host of the Austrian passed, And the Schreckhorn's 3 rocks, with a savage peal, Made mirth of his clarion's blast. Up 'midst the Righi 4 snows The stormy march was heard, With the charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose, And the leader's gathering word. But a band, the noblest band of all, Through the rude Morgarten strait, With blazoned streamers and lances tall, Moved onwards in princely state. 1 Wine-month, the German name for October. Schreckhorn, the peak of terror, a mountain in the canton of Berne. They came with heavy chains, For the race despised so longBut amidst his Alp-domains, The herdsman's arm is strong! The sun was reddening the clouds of morn When they entered the rock-defile, And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn Their bugles rung the while. But on the misty height, When storms at distance brood. There was stillness, as of deep dead night, And a pause-but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might, Of the hostile shield and spear. On wound those columns bright Where the mountain people The pass was filled with their serried power, All helmed and mail-arrayed, And their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower In the rustling forest-shade. There were prince and crested knight, Hemmed in by cliff and flood, When a shout arose from the misty height Where the mountain people stood. And the mighty rocks came bounding down, Their startled foes among, With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown -Oh! the herdsman's arm is strong! They came like lauwine' hurled From Alp to Alp in play, When the echoes shout through the snowy world, And the pines are borne away. The fir-woods crashed on the mountain-side, And the Switzers rushed from high, With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride Of the Austrian chivalry: Like hunters of the deer, They stormed the narrow dell, And first in the shock, with Uri's spear, Was the arm of William Tell.2 There was tumult in the crowded strait, And a civ of wild dismay, | And many a warrior met his fate From a peasant's hand that day! 1 Lauwine, the Swiss name for the avalanche. And the empire's banner then From its place of waving free, Went down before the shepherd-men, The men of the Forest-sea.3 With their pikes and massy clubs they brake And the war-horse dashed to the redThe cuirass and the shield, dening lake From the reapers of the field! The field-but not of sheavesProud crests and pennons lay, Strewn o'er it thick as the birch-wood leaves, In the Autumn tempest's way. Oh! the sun in heaven fierce havoc viewed, When the Austrian turned to fly, And the brave, in the trampling multitude, Had a fearful death to die: And the leader of the war And a pale and troubled mien. 2 William Tell's name is particularly mentioned amongst the confederates at Morgarten. Forest-sea, the lake of the four cantons is also so called. But the sons of the land which the free- Then welcome But where the sunny hues and showers Pure hands were raised to heaven; And vows were pledged that man should roam Through every Alpine dell And prayer, the full deep flow of prayer, Hallowed the pastoral sod; Before the Alps and stars they knelt, Grütli's free-born flower! There dwells a breath, a tone, a power, Speak not of victory!-in the name There is too much of woe! Hushed be the empty voice of Fame-Call me back his whose graceful head is low.. Speak not of victory!-from my halls The sunny hour is gone! The ancient banner on my walls, Must sink ere long; I had but himbut one! Within the dwelling of my sires The hearths will soon be cold, With me must die the beacon-fires That streamed at midnight from the mountain hold. And let them fade, since this must be, Was thy bright blood poured forth And is there but for stately youth a grave? Speak to me once again, my boy. Wilt thou not hear my call! Thou wert so full of life and joy, I had not dreamt of this-that thou couldst fall! A FRAGMENT. REST on your battle-fields, ye brave! Let the pines murmur o'er your grave, Your dirge be in the moaning wave We call you back no more! Oh! there was mourning when ye fell, In your own vales a deep-toned knell, An agony, a wild farewell But that hath long been o'er. Rest with your still and solemn fame; The hills keep record of your name, And never can a touch of shame Darken the buried brow. But we on changeful days are cast, When bright names from their place fall fast; And ye that with your glory passed, ENGLAND'S DEAD. SON of the Ocean Isle! Where sleep your mighty dead? Show me what high and stately pile Is reared o'er Glory's bed. Go, stranger track the deepWave may not foam, nor wild wind Free, free the white sail spread! sweep, Where rest not England's dead. On Egypt's burning plains, With fearful power the noonday reigns, By the pyramid o'erswayed, And the palm trees yield no shade ; But let the angry sun From heaven look fiercely red, Unfelt by those whose task is done!There slumber England's dead. The hurricane hath might And far by Ganges' banks at night |