And the Alpine herdsman's lay, But when the battle-horn is blown When spear-heads light the lakes, With a leap, like Tell's proud leap, From the flashing billow sprung! They shall wake beside their Forest-sea, When they link'd the hands that made us free, And their voices shall be heard, When Winkelried, on Sempach's plain, And the crowned casques,t o'erthrown, For the Kureihen'st notes must never sound And the vines on freedom's holy ground The point of rock on which Tell leaped from the boat of Gessler is marked by a chapel, and called the Tellensprung. + Crowned helmets, as a distinction of rank, are mentioned in Simond's Switzerland. The Kureihen, the celebrated Ranz des Vaches. And the yellow harvest wave SWISS SONG, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF AN ANCIENT BATTLE. The Swiss, even to our days, have continued to celebrate the anniversaries of ancient battles with much solemnity; assembling in the open air on the fields where their ancestors fought, to hear thanksgivings offered up by the priests, and the names of all who shared in the glory of the day enumerated. They afterwards walk in procession to chapels always erected in the vicinity of such scenes, where masses are sung for the souls of the departed. See Planta's History of the Helvetic Confederacy. LOOK on the white Alps round! If yet they gird a land Where freedom's voice and step are found, Forget ye not the band, The faithful band, our sires, who fell Here, in the narrow battle-dell! If yet the wilds among, Our silent hearts may burn, When the deep mountain-horn had rung, Look on the white Alps round! That day the stormy rolling sound, Their caves prolonged the trumpet's blast, They saw the princely crest, They saw-and glorying there they stand, Praise to the mountain-born, Look on the white Alps round! Our children's fearless feet may bound, Teach them in song to bless the band If by the wood-fire's blaze, Forget not then the shepherd-race, Look on the white Alps round! Comes o'er them with a gladdening sound, For blood first bathed its flowery sod, THE MESSENGER-BIRD. Some of the native Brazilians pay great veneration to a certain bird that sings mournfully in the night time. They say it is a messenger which their deceased friends and relations have sent, and that it brings them news from the other world. See Picart's Ceremonics and Religious Customs. THOU art come from the spirits' land, thou bird! Through the dark pine-grove let thy voice be heard, We know that the bowers are green and fair And we know that the friends we have lost are there, And we know they have quench'd their fever's thirst For there must the stream in its freshness burst, And we know that they will not be lured to earth By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth, And heard the tales of our fathers' days, But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain! Doth the warrior think of his brother there, And the chief, of those that were wont to share We call them far through the silent night, * An expedition was actually undertaken by Juan Ponce de Leon, in the 16th century, with the view of discovering a wonderful fountain, believed by the natives of Puerto Rico to spring in one of the Lucayo Isles, and to possess the virtue of restoring youth to all who bathed in its waters. See Robertson's History of America. THE STRANGER IN LOUISIANA.. An early traveller mentions a people on the banks of the Mississippi who burst into tears at the sight of a stranger. The reason of this is, that they fancy their deceased friends and relations to be only gone on a journey, and being in constant expectation of their return, look for them vainly among these foreign travellers. Picart's Ceremonies and Religious Customs. "J'ai passe moi-meme," says Chateaubriand in his Souvenirs d'Amerique," chez une peuplade indienne qui se prenait a pleurer a la vue d'un voyageur, parce qu'il lui rappelait des amis partis pour la Contree des Ames, et depuis long-tems en voyage." WE saw thee, O stranger, and wept! The path of his arrows a storm to flee! But there came a voice from a distant shore; He was called-he is found 'midst his tribe no more! We saw thee, O Stranger, and wept! He hath none by his side when the wilds we track, For her breezy step-but the step was thine! |