FREDERICK leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure, Careless casts the parting glance

On the scene of former pleasure. Joying in his prancing steed,

Keen to prove his untried blade, Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead Óver mountain, moor, and glade. Helpless, ruin'd; left forlorn,

Lovely Alice wept alone; Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs!

See, the tear of anguish flows!— Mingling soon with bursting sobs, Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd; Seven long days and nights are o'er ; Death in pity brought his aid,

As the village bell struck four.

Far from her, and far from France,

Faithless Frederick onward rides; Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. Heard ye not the boding sound,

As the tongue of yonder tower, Slowly, to the hills around,

Told the fourth, the fated hour? Starts the steed, and snuffs the air,

Yet no cause of dread appears; Bristles high the rider's hair,

Struck with strange mysterious fears. Desperate, as his terrors rise,

In the steed the spur he hides; From himself in vain he flies; Anxious, restless, on he rides.

Seven long days, and seven long nights, Wild he wander'd, woe the while! Ceaseless care, and causeless fright,

Urge his footsteps many a mile.
Dark the seventh sad night descends;
Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ;
While the deafening thunder lends
All the terrors of its roar.

Weary, wet, and spent with toil,
Where his head shall Frederick hide?
Where, but in yon ruin'd aisle,

By the lightning's flash descried.
To the portal, dank and low,

Fast his steed the wanderer bound: Down a ruin'd staircase slow,

Next his darkling way he wound. Long drear vaults before him lie!

Glimmering lights are seen to glide!"Blessed Mary, hear my cry!

Deign a sinner's steps to guide!" Often lost their quivering beam,

Still the lights move slow before, Till they rest their ghastly gleam Right against an iron door. Thundering voices from within, Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; As they fell, a solemn strain

Lent its wild and wondrous close! Midst the din, he seem'd to hear Voice of friends, by death removed ;Well he knew that solemn air,

'Twas the lay that Alice loved.— Hark! for now a solemn knell Four times on the still night broke ; Four times, at its deaden'd swell, Echoes from the ruins spoke.

As the lengthen'd clangours die,
Slowly opes the iron door!
Straight a banquet met his eye,
But a funeral's form it wore!
Coffins for the seats extend;

All with black the board was spread; Girt by parent, brother, friend,

Long since numbered with the dead!

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound,
Ghastly smiling, points a seat;
All arose, with thundering sound;
All the expected stranger greet.

High their meagre arms they wave,

Wild their notes of welcome swell ;"Welcome, traitor, to the grave! Perjured, bid the light farewell!”

'TWAS when among our linden-trees

The bees had housed in swarms,

(And grey-hair'd peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,)

Then look'd we down to Willisow,
The land was all in flame;

We knew the Archduke Leopold
With all his army came.

The Austrian nobles made their vow,
So hot their heart and bold,
"On Switzer carles we'll trample now,
And slay both young and old."
With clarion loud, and banner proud,
From Zurich on the lake,
In martial pomp and fair array,

Their onward march they make. "Now list, ye lowland nobles all

Ye seek the mountain strand, Nor wot ye what shall be your lot

In such a dangerous land. "I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins, Before ye farther go;

A skirmish in Helvetian hills

May send your souls to woe.""But where now shall we find a priest Our shrift that he may hear?""The Switzer priest has ta'en the field, He deals a penance drear.

"Right heavily upon your head
He'll lay his hand of steel;
And with his trusty partisan
Your absolution deal."-
'Twas on a Monday morning then,
The corn was steep'd in dew,
And merry maids had sickles ta'en,
When the host to Sempach drew.
The stalwart men of fair Lucerne

Together have they join'd; The pith and core of manhood stern, Was none cast looks behind. It was the Lord of Hare-castle, And to the Duke he said, "Yon little band of brethren true Will meet us undismay'd."-"O Hare-castle, thou heart of hare!" Fierce Oxenstern replied.— "Shalt see then how the game will fare," The taunted knight replied.

There was lacing then of helmets bright,
And closing ranks amain;
The peaks they hew'd from their boot-
points

Might well-nigh load a wain.
And thus they to each other said,

"Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell,

The peasants are so few."

The gallant Swiss Confederates there
They pray'd to God aloud,
And he display'd his rainbow fair
Against a swarthy cloud.

Then heart and pulse throbb'd more

and more

With courage firm and high, And down the good Confederates bore On the Austrian chivalry.

The Austrian Lion 'gan to growl,

And toss his main and tail;
And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt,
Went whistling forth like hail.

Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there,
The game was nothing sweet;
The boughs of many a stately tree
Lay shiver'd at their feet.
The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast,
So close their spears they laid;
It chafed the gallant Winkelreid,
Who to his comrades said-

"I have a virtuous wife at home,
A wife and infant son;

I leave them to my country's care,-
This field shall soon be won.

"These nobles lay their spears right thick,
And keep full firm array,
Yet shall my charge their order break,
And make my brethren way."
He rush'd against the Austrian band,
In desperate career,

And with his body, breast, and hand,
Bore down each hostile spear.
Four lances splinter'd on his crest,
Six shiver'd in his side;
Still on the serried files he press'd-
He broke their ranks, and died.

This patriot's self-devoted deed

First tamed the Lion's mood, And the four forest cantons freed From thraldom by his blood. Right where his charge had made a lane, His valiant comrades burst, With sword, and axe, and partisan, And hack, and stab, and thrust. The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, And granted ground amain,

The Mountain Bull he bent his brows,
And gored his sides again.
Then lost was banner, spear, and shield,
At Sempach in the flight,
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field
Hold many an Austrian knight.
It was the Archduke Leopold,
So lordly would he ride,

But he came against the Switzer churls,
And they slew him in his pride.

The heifer said unto the bull,

"And shall I not complain? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain. "One thrust of thine outrageous horn Has gall'd the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne, To range our glens no more." An Austrian noble left the stour, And fast the flight 'gan take; And he arrived in luckless hour At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher call'd,

(His name was Hans von Rot,) "For love, or meed, or charity,

Receive us in thy boat!"

Their anxious call the fisher heard,

And, glad the meed to win,
His shallop to the shore he steer'd,
And took the flyers in.

And while against the tide and wind
Hans stoutly row'd his way,
The noble to his follower sign'd

He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them turn'd,
The squire his dagger drew,
Hans saw his shadow in the lake,

The boat he overthrew.

He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they strove, He stunn'd them with his oar, "Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs,

You'll ne'er stab boatman more. "Two gilded fishes in the lake

This morning have I caught, Their silver scales may much avail, Their carrion flesh is naught."

It was a messenger of woe
Has sought the Austrian land:
"Ah! gracious lady, evil news!
My lord lies on the strand.

"At Sempach, on the battle-field,
His bloody corpse lies there."-

"Ah, gracious God!" the lady cried, "What tidings of despair!

Now would you know the minstrel wight
Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,

A burgher of Lucerne.

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,
Returning from the bloody spot,
Where God had judged the day.

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