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“ Wildly scatter'd o'er the plain, Bloodier still the battle grew ;

WANDERER. O ye spirits of the slain,

“Hail all hail! the patriot's grave, Slain on those your prowess slew :

Valour's venerable bed :

Hail! the memory of the brave, “ Who shall now your deeds relate ?

Hail! the spirits of the dead.
Ye that fell unwept, unknown;
Mourning for your country's fate,

“ Time their triumphs shall proclaim, But rejoicing in your own.

And their rich reward be this,

Immortality of fame, “ Virtue, valour, naught avail'd

Immortality of bliss."
With so merciless a foe;
When the nerves of heroes fail'd,

SHEPHERD.
Cowards then could strike a blow.

“ On that melancholy plain,

In that conflict of despair, “ Cold and keen th' assassin's blade

How was noble Albert slain ?
Smote the father to the ground;

How didst thou, old warrior, fare?”
Through the infant's breast convey'd
To the mother's heart a wound.*

WANDERER. “ Underwalden thus expired;

“ In the agony of strife,

Where the heart of battle bled,
But at her expiring flame,

Where his country lost her life,
With fraternal feeling fired,

Glorious Albert bow'd his head.
Lo, a band of Switzers came.t

“ When our phalanx broke away, “ From the steeps beyond the lake,

And our stoutest soldiers fell,
Like a winter's weight of snow,

Where the dark rocks dimm'd the day,
When the huge lavanges break,
Devastating all below.1

Scowling o'er the deepest dell; “ Down they rush'd with headlong might,

« There, like lions old in blood, Swifter than the panting wind;

Lions rallying round their den,

Albert and his warriors stood; All before them fear and light,

We were few, but we were men. Death and silence all behind.

“ Breast to breast we fought the ground, “ How the forest of the foe

Arm to arm repell’d the foe;
Bow'd before the thunder strokes,

Every motion was a wound,
When they laid the cedars low,

And a death was every blow.
When they overwhelm'd the oaks.

“ Thus the clouds of sunset beam “ Thus they hew'd their dreadful way;

Warmer with expiring light;
Till, by numbers forced to yield,

Thus autumnal meteors stream
Terrible in death they lay,

Redder through the darkening night. The AVENGERS OF THE FIELD.”

“ Miracles our champions wrought

Who their dying deeds shall tell ! PART IV.

O how gloriously they fought!

How triumphantly they fell ! The Wanderer relates the circumstances attending the death of Albert.

“ One by one gave up the ghost,

Slain, not conquer'd,—they died free. SHEPHERD.

Albert stood,-himself a host: “ PLEDGE the memory of the brave,

Last of all the Swiss was he.
And the spirits of the dead;

“So, when night with rising shade Pledge the venerable grave,

Climbs the Alps from steep to steep, Valour's consecrated bed.

Till, in hoary gloom array'd, “ Wanderer, cheer thy drooping soul,

All the giant mountains sleep;
This inspiring goblet take;

“ High in heaven their monarch® stands, Drain the deep delicious bowl,

Bright and beauteous from afar,
For thy martyr'd brethren's sake.

Shining unto distant lands

Like a new-created star. * An indiscriminate massacre followed the battle.

+ Two hundred self-devoted beroes from the canton of * Mont Blanc ; which is so much higher than the sur. Switz arrived, at the close of the battle, to the aid of their rounding Alps, that it catches and retains the beams of brethren of Underwalden; and perished to a man, after the sun twenty minutes earlier and later than they, and, having slain thrice their number.

crowned with eternal ice, may be seen from an immense I The lavanges are tremendous torrents of melting snow distance purpling with his eastern light, or crimsoned that tumble from the tops of the Alps, and deluge all the with his setting glory while mist and obscurity rest on the country before them.

mountains beluw.

SHEPHERD.

“ While I struggled through the fight,

“Bow'd to Heaven's mysterious will, Albert was my sword and shield;

I am worthy yet of you; Till strange horror quench'd my sight,

Yes - I am a mother still, And I fainted on the field.

Though I feel a widow, too.” “ Slow awakening from that trance,

WANDERER. When my soul return’d to day,

“Mother, widow, mourner, all, Vanish'd were the fiends of France,

All kind names in one,-my child; But in Albert's blood I lay.

On thy faithful neck I fall; “ Slain for me, his dearest breath

Kiss me,-are we reconciled ?
On my lips he did resign;
Slain for me, he snatch'd his death

WANDERER'S DAUGHTER.
From the blow that menaced mine.

“ Yes, to Albert I appeal: « He had raised his dying head,

Albert, answer from above, And was gazing on my face ;

That my father's breast may feel As I woke,—the spirit fled,

All his daughter's heart of love." But I felt his last embrace.”

SHEPHERD'S WIFE,

“ Faint and wayworn as they be “ Man of suffering ! such a tale

With the day's long journey, sire, Would bring tears from marble eyes !"

Let thy pilgrim family

Now with me to rest retire.”
WANDERER.

WANDERER. “Ha! my daughter's cheek grows pale !"

“ Yes, the hour invites to sleep; WANDERER'S WIFE.

Till the morrow we must part:“Help! O help! my daughter dies !"

Nay, my daughter, do not weep,

Do not weep and break my heart. WANDERER. “Calm thy transports, O my wife!

" Sorrow-soothing sweet repose Peace! for these dear orphans' sake !"

On your peaceful pillows light;
WANDERER'S WIFE,

Angel hands your eyelids close

Dream of Paradise to-night.” “O my joy, my hope, my life, O my child, my child, awake !".

WANDERER.
« God! O God, whose goodness gives ;

PART V.
God! whose wisdom takes away-
Spare my child.”

The Wanderer, being left alone with the shepherd, relates

his adventures after the battle of Underwalden SHEPHERD. “She lives, she lives !"

“When the good man yields his breath, WANDERER.

(For the good man never dies,) “Lives ?-my daughter, didst thou say?

Bright, beyond the gulf of death, “God Almighty, on my knees,

Lo! the land of promise lies.
In the dust will I adore
Thine unsearchable decrees ;

« Peace to Albert's awful shade, -She was dead :-she lives once more.”

In that land where sorrows cease;

And to Albert's ashes, laid
WANDERER'S DAUGHTER.

In the earth's cold bosom, peace.”
“ When poor Albert died, no prayer
Call'd him back to hated life:

WANDERER. O that I had perish'd there,

« On the fatal field I lay, Not his widow, but his wife !"

Till the hour when twilight pale,

Like the ghost of dying day,
WANDERER.

Wander'd down the darkening vale.
“ Dare my daughter thus repine ?
Albert, answer from above;

“ Then in agony I rose, Tell me,-are these infants thine,

And with horror look'd around,
Whom their mother does not love ?”

Where, embracing friends and foes,
WANDERER'S DAUGHTER.

Dead and dying, strew'd the ground. “Does not love my father, hear;

“ Many a widow fix'd her eye, Hear me, or my heart will break;

Weeping, where her husband bled, Dear is life, but only dear

Heedless, though her babe was by, For my parents', children's sake.

Prattling to his father dead.

SHEPHERD.

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* The town of Stantz, and the surrounding villages, were burnt by the French on the pight after the ballle of Underwalden, and the beautiful valley was converted into a wilderness.

SHEPHERD. “ Long before thy sun descend,

May thy woes and wanderings cease; Late and lovely be thine end;

Hope and triumph, joy and peace !

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SHEPHERD. “ Warrior, warrior, stay thine arm !

Sheathe, O sheathe thy frantic sword !”

* There is a tradition among the Swiss, that they are descended from the ancient Scandinavians; among whom, in a remote age, there arose so grievous a famine, that it was determined in the assembly of the nation, that every tenth inan and his family should quit their country, and seek a new possession. Six thousand, chosen by lot, thus ernigrated at once from the North. They prayed to God to conduct them to a land like their own, where they might dwell in freedom and quiet, finding food for their families, and pasture for their cattle. God, says the tradilion, led them to a valley among the Alps, where they cleared away the forests, built the town of Switz, and afterwards peopled and cultivated the cantons of Uri and Underwaldea.

WANDERER. “ Ab! I rave-I faint--the charm

Flies, and memory is restored.

“Yes, to agony restored

From the too transporting charm :Sleep for ever, O my sword ! Be thou wither'd, O mine arm!

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