To gird th' oppress'd, had given their deep thoughts way,
And brac'd their spirits for the patriot-fight,
With lovely images of homes, that lay
Now had endurance reach'd its bounds!—They came
With courage set in each bright earnest eye,
The day, the signal, and the hour to name,
When they should gather on their hills to die,
Or shake the Glaciers with their joyous cry
For the land's freedom—'Twas a scene, combining
All glory in itself!—the solemn sky,
The stars, the waves, their soften'd light enshrining,
Beneath that field the waters lay reposing,
Stretch'd in dark stillness on their marble bed;
Around, soar'd up the mountain-chain, inclosing
Treasures and mysteries, wonderful, and dread,
And unapproach'd!—Above, serenely spread
Th' illimitable azure, with its zone
All regions of the living and the dead
Folding alike; but Grandeur's seat and throne
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 temper'd 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
And three, that seem'd as chieftains of the band,
Were gather'd in the midst on that lone shore,
By Uri's Lake. A father of the land *[1],
One on his brow the furrow'd 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,
And his gray hairs, in happier times, might well
To their last pillow silently have gone,
As melts a wreath of snow. But who can tell
How life may task the spirit?—He was one
- ↑ Walter Fürst.
