344 Song of the Battle of Morgarten. And a trumpet, pealing wild and far, Midst the ancient rocks was blown, And through the forest-glooms And the winds were tossing knightly plumes, In Hasli's wilds there was gleaming steel Up midst the Righi snows The stormy march was heard, With the charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose, But a band, the noblest band of all, But amidst his Alp-domains, The herdsman's arm is strong. The sun was reddening the clouds of morn But on the misty height Where the mountain-people stood, There was stillness as of night, When storms at distance brood. Song of the Battle of Morgarten. There was stillness as of deep, dead night, And a pause-but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might On wound those columns bright Between the lake and wood, But they looked not to the misty height The pass was filled with their serried power, And their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower There were prince and crested knight, When a shout arose from the misty height And the mighty rocks came bounding down With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown- They came like lauwine hurled From Alp to Alp in play, 345 When the echoes shout through the snowy world, The fir-woods crashed on the mountain-side, With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride 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. 346 Song of the Battle of Morgarten. There was tumult in the crowded strait, From its place of waving free, The men of the Forest-Sea. With their pikes and massy clubs they brake And the war-horse dashed to the reddening lake The field-but not of sheaves- Strewn o'er it thick as the birch-wood leaves Oh! the sun in heaven fierce havoc viewed And the leader of the war At eve unhelmed was seen, With a hurrying step on the wilds asar, But the sons of the land which the freeman tills To their cabin homes midst the deep-green hills, There were songs and festal fires [Juana, mother of the Emperor Charles V., upon the death of her husband, Philip the Handsome of Austria, who had treated her with uniform neglect, had his body laid upon a bed of state, in a magnificent dress; and being possessed with the idea that it would revive, watched it for a length of time, incessantly waiting for the moment of returning life.] THE It is but dust thou look'st upon. This love, What doth it in the shadow of the grave? 'HE night-wind shook the tapestry round an ancient palace-room, And torches, as it rose and fell, waved through the gorgeous gloom, And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams and red, Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by the dead. Pale shone the features of the dead, yet glorious still to see, Like a hunter or a chief struck down while his heart and step were free: No shroud he wore, no robe of death, but there majestic lay, Proudly and sadly glittering in royalty's array. But she that with the dark hair watched by the cold slumberer's side, On her wan cheek no beauty dwelt, and in her garb no pride; Only her full impassioned eyes, as o'er that clay she bent, A wildness and a tenderness in strange resplendence blent. And as the swift thoughts crossed her soul, like shadows of a cloud, Amidst the silent room of death the dreamer spoke aloud: She spoke to him that could not hear, and cried, “Thou yet wilt wake, And learn my watchings and my tears, beloved one! for thy sake. 66 They told me this was death, but well I knew it could not be; Fairest and stateliest of the earth! who spoke of death for thee? They would have wrapped the funeral shroud thy gallant form around, But I forbade and there thou art, a monarch, robed and crowned! "With all thy bright locks gleaming still, their coronal beneath, And thy brow so proudly beautiful-who said that this was death? Silence hath been upon thy lips, and stillness round thee long, But the hopeful spirit in my breast is all undimmed and strong. "I know thou hast not loved me yet; I am not fair like thee, The very glance of whose clear eye threw round a light of glee! |