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ADVERTISEMENT.

It was in the year 1308, that the Swiss rose against the tyranny of the Bailiffs appointed over them by Albert of Austria. The field called the Grütli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Uri and Unterwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Fürst, (the father-in-law of William Tell,) Werner Stauffacher, and Erni (or Arnold) Melchthal, as their place of meeting to deliberate on the accomplishment of their projects.

"Hither came Fürst and Melchthal, along secret paths over the heights, and Stauffacher in his boat across the Lake of the Four Cantons. On the night preceding the 11th of November, 1307, they met here, each with ten associates, men of approved worth; and while at this solemn hour they were wrapt in the contemplation that on their success depended the fate of their whole posterity, Werner, Walter, and Arnold held up their hands to heaven, and in the name of the Almighty, who has created man to an inalienable degree of freedom, swore jointly and strenuously to defend that freedom. The thirty associates heard the oath with awe; and with uplifted hands attested the same God, and all his saints, that they were firmly bent on offering up their lives for the defence of their injured liberty. They then calmly agreed on their future proceedings, and for the present, each returned to his hamlet.” — Planta's History of the Helvetic Confederacy.

On the first day of the year 1308, they succeeded in throwing off the Austrian yoke, and "it is well attested," says the same author, "that not one drop of blood was shed on this memorable occasion, nor had one proprietor to lament the loss of a claim, a privilege, or an inch of land. The Swiss met on the succeeding sabbath, and once more confirmed by oath their ancient, and (as they fondly named it) their perpetual league."

(116)

THE

LEAGUE OF THE ALPS.

I.

'Twas night upon the Alps.-The Senn's (1) wild horn,

Like a wind's voice, had pour'd its last long tone, Whose pealing echoes through the larch-woods

borne,

To the low cabins of the glens made known That welcome steps were nigh. The flocks had

gone,

By cliff and pine-bridge, to their place of rest; The chamois slumber'd, for the chase was done; His cavern-bed of moss the hunter press'd, And the rock-eagle couch'd, high on his cloudy nest.

II.

Did the land sleep?—the woodman's axe had ceased Its ringing notes upon the beech and plane; The grapes were gather'd in; the vintage feast Was closed upon the hills, the reaper's strain Hush'd by the streams; the year was in its wane, The night in its mid-watch; it was a time E'en mark'd and hallow'd unto slumber's reign. But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime, And o'er his white Alps moved the spirit of the clime.

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III.

For there, where snows, in crowning glory spread,
High and unmark'd by mortal footstep lay;
And there, where torrents, 'mid the ice-caves fed,
Burst in their joy of light and sound away:
And there, where freedom, as in scornful play,
Had hung man's dwellings 'midst the realms of air,
O'er cliffs the very birth-place of the day-
Oh! who would dream that tyranny could dare
To lay her withering hand on God's bright works
e'en there?

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IV.

Yet thus it was amidst the fleet streams gushing
To bring down rainbows o'er their sparry cell,
And the glad heights, through mist and tempest
rushing

Up where the sun's red fire-glance earliest fell,
And the fresh pastures where the herd's sweet bell
Recall'd such life as Eastern patriarchs led;
There peasant-men their free thoughts might not tell
Save in the hour of shadows and of dread,
And hollow sounds that wake to Guilt's dull stealthy
tread.

V.

But in a land of happy shepherd homes,

On its green hills in quiet joy reclining

With their bright hearth-fires 'midst the twilight glooms,

From bowery lattice through the fir-woods shining;

A land of legends and wild songs, entwining

Their memory with all memories loved and blestIn such a land there dwells a power, combining The strength of many a calm, but fearless breast; -And woe to him who breaks the Sabbath of its rest!

VI.

A sound went up-the wave's dark sleep was

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On Uri's lake was heard a midnight oar

Of man's brief course a troubled moment's token Th' eternal waters to their barriers bore; And then their gloom a flashing image wore Of torch-fires streaming out o'er crag and wood, And the wild falcon's wing was heard to soar In startled haste-and by that moonlight flood, A band of patriot-men on Grütli's verdure stood.

VII.

They stood in arms-the wolf-spear and the bow Had waged their war on things of mountain race; Might not their swift stroke reach a mail-clad foe?

-Strong hands in harvest, daring feet in chase, True hearts in fight, were gather'd on that place Of secret council,-Not for fame or spoil

So met those men in Heaven's majestic face; To guard free hearths they rose, the sons of toil, The hunter of the rocks, the tiller of the soil.

VIII.

O'er their low pastoral valleys might the tide
Of years have flow'd, and still, from sire to son,
Their names and records on the green earth died,
As cottage-lamps, expiring one by one,

In the dim glades, when midnight hath begun

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