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Then out he rushed, with head bent low; his body, breast, and hands,
Bore down a sheaf of spears, and made a pathway for our bands.
Four lances splintered on his brow, six shivered in his side,
But still he struggled fiercely on, and, shouting “Victory!” died.
Then on that broken flying rout, we Swiss, rejoicing, rushed,
With sword, and mace, and partisan, that struck, and stabbed, and crushed;
Their banners beaten to the earth and all their best men slain,
The Austrians threw away their shields and fled across the plain.
And thus our Switzerland was saved, upon that summer’s day,
And Sempach saw rejoicing men returning from the fray.
As we bore home brave Winkelreid a rainbow spanned our track,
But where the Austrian rabble fled a thunder-storm rolled black.
