THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS.

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COME TO ME, GENTLE SLEEP.

COME to me, gentle sleep!

I pine, I pine for thee;

Come with thy spells, the soft, the deep,
And set my spirit free!

Each lonely, burning thought,

In twilight languor steep

Come to the full heart, long o'erwrought,
O gentle, gentle sleep!

Come with thine urn of dew,

Sleep, gentle sleep! yet bring

No voice, love's yearning to renew,

No vision on thy wing!

Come, as to folding flowers,

To birds in forests deep;

-Long, dark, and dreamless be thine hours,

O gentle, gentle sleep!

THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS; OR, THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI.*

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 Grutli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Uri and Unterwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Furst, (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 Furst 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

PLANTAS, and for the present each returned to his hamlet."

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."]

*In point of chronology, this poem should have followed "The Vespers of Palermo" and " Songs of the Cid." Having been inad

I.

'Twas night upon the Alps. The Senn's 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.

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?

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 patriarch's 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

vertently omitted in its proper place, it is here inserted between the Songs for Music" and the Scenes and Hymns of Life," in order more strikingly to exhibit the changes in style and habits of thought apparent between the earlier and later compositions of Mrs Hemans

THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS.

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 broken-
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 Grutli'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
To hush all sound.-But silent on its height,
The snow-mass, full of death, while ages run
Their course, may slumber, bathed in rosy light,
fill some rash voice or step disturb its brooding might.

IX.

So were they roused-th' invading step had pass'd
Their cabin thresholds, and the lowly door,

Which well had stood against the Fohnwind's blast,'
Could bar Oppression from their homes no more,
Why, what had she to do where all things wore
Wild grandeur's impress ?-In the storm's free way,
How dared she lift her pageant crest before

Th' enduring and magnificent array

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Of sovereign Alps, that wing'd their eagles with the day!

X.

This might not long be borne-the tameless hills

Have voices from the cave and cataract swelling,
Fraught with His name, whose awful presence fills
Their deep lone places, and for ever telling

That He hath made man free! and they whose dwelling
VOL. II.-37

Was in those ancient fastnesses, gave ear;

The weight of sufferance from their hearts repelling.
They rose-the forester the mountaineer-

Oh! what hath earth more strong than the good peasant-spear?

XI.

Sacred be Grutli's field-their vigil keeping

Through many a blue and starry summer night,
There, while the sons of happier lands were sleeping,
Had those brave Switzers met, and in the sight
Of the just God, who pours forth burning might

To gird the oppress'd, had given their deep thoughts way
And braced their spirits for the patriot fight,

With lovely images of homes that lay

Bower'd 'midst the rustling pines, or by the torrent spray.

XII.

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, And man's high soul supreme o'er mighty Nature shining.

XIII.

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 woods' whisper and the waves' 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

Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death.

XIV.

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,3

One on his brow the silent record wore

Of many days, whose shadows had pass'd o'er His path among 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, For he had walk'd with God, beside the mountain streams.

XV.

And his grey hairs, in happier times, might well
To their last pillow silently have gone,
As melts a wreath of snow.-But who shall tell
How life may task the spirit ?-He was one,
Who from its morn a freeman's work had done,

THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS.

And reap'd his harvest, and his vintage press'd,
Fearless of wrong; and now, at set of sun,
He bow'd not to his years, for on the breast
Of a still chainless land he deem'd it much to rest.

XVI.

But for such holy rest strong hands must toil, Strong hearts endure !-By that pale elder's side, Stood one that seem'd a monarch of the soil, Serene and stately in his manhood's pride, Werner, the brave and true!-If men have died. Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep, He was a mate for such.-The voice that cried Within his breast, "Arise!" came still and deep From his far home, that smiled e'en then in moonlight sleep.

XVII.

It was a home to die for!-As it rose

Through its vine-foliage, sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood, o'er the green repose
And laughing sunshine of the pastures round;
And he whose life to that sweet spot was bound
Raised unto Heaven a glad yet thoughtful eye,
And set his free step firmer on the ground,
When o'er his soul its melodies went by
As through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy.

XVIII.

But who was he, that on his hunting-spear
Lean'd with a prouder and more fiery bearing?
His was a brow for tyrant hearts to fear,
Within the shadow o. its dark locks wearing
That which they may not tame-a soul declaring

War against earth's oppressors. Midst that throng,

Of other mould he seem'd, and loftier daring,

One whose blood swept high impulses along,

One that should pass, and leave a name for warlike song

XIX.

A memory on the mountains!-one to stand,

When the hills echo'd with the deepening swell

Of hostile trumpets, foremost for the land,

And in some rock defile, or savage dell,

Array her peasant-children to repel

Th' invader, sending arrows for his chains;

Ay, one to fold around him, as he fell,

Her banner with a smile-for through his veins

The joy of danger flow'd, as torrents to the plains.

XX.

There was at times a wildness in the light
Of his quick-flashing eye; a something, born
Of the free Alps, and beautifully bright,
And proud, and tameless, laughing fear to scorn!
It well might be !-Young Erni's step had worn