Arnold de Winkelried

Day immortal in Helvetia, — day to every Switzer dear, —
Day that saw Duke Leopold down before Sempach appear,
Just as morning fresh and stilly dawned above the ancient town,
And the mountain mists uprolling let the waiting sunlight down.

Full four thousand knights and barons marched with Leopold that day,
With their vassals, squires, and burghers, following in grand array;
'T was the Duke himself came foremost, slowly came, in state and pride,
With the knight of Eros, brave Eyloff, gravely riding at his side.
Fiery-eyed with ancient hatred rode proud Gessler, as became
One of the abhorrèd lineage, and the old accursèd name.

It was while their serfs and hirelings cut the Switzer's tall grain down,
That the Austrian knights paraded on their steeds before the town.
"Ho! our reapers would have breakfast!" thus the Sire de Reinach calls.
"The Confederates make it ready!" cried the Avoyer from the walls.

Now, upon a hill to northward, in among the sheltering wood,
The Confederates' little army still and firm and fearless stood;
They from Getsan, Zug, and Glaris, the Waldstetten, and Lucerne,
But not a burgher or a knight from false and recreant Berne.

There with looks of old defiance glared they down upon the foe,
And their hearts were hot for vengeance when they thought of long-ago;
For full many a pike now gleaming in the pleasant summer light.
Had their fathers dipped in Austrian blood at Morgarten's mountain fight!

Up amid the winds and sunshine Austria's blazoned banners danced, —
With a mighty clash of armour Austria's haughty hosts advanced;
Calling on the God of freedom, with a shout for Switzerland,
Down against the mailèd thousands rushed the little patriot band!
With their short swords, and their halberds, and their simple shields of wood, —
With their archers, and their slingers, and their pikemen stern and rude.

But as thick as stands at harvest golden grain along the Rhine,
Stood the spears of the invaders, gleaming down the threatening line;
And as pressed the hardy Switzers close upon their leader's track,
Everywhere that wall of lances met their way, and hurled them back;
Till the blood of brave Confederates stained the hill-side and the plain,
Drenching all the trampled greensward like a storm of mountain rain;
Till the boldest brow was darkened, and the firmest lip was paled;
Till the peasant's heart grew fearful, and the shepherd's stout arm failed.
Then from out the Swiss ranks stepping, high above the tumult called,
He, the Knight de Winkelried, Arnold, pride of Underwald:
"Yield not, dear and faithful allies! — stay, for I your way will make!
Care you for the wife and children, for your old companion's sake;
Follow now, and strike for freedom, God, and Switzerland!" he cried;
Full against the close ranks rushing, with his arms extended wide,
Caught, and to his bosom gathered, the sharp lances of the foe!
Then, as roll the avalanches down from wilds of Alpine snow,
Through the breach, on rolled the Switzers, overthrew the mail-clad ranks,
Smote, as smote their shepherd fathers, on Algeri's marshy banks!
Everywhere the Austrian nobles, serfs, and hirelings turned in flight, —
Soon was seen the royal standard wavering, falling in the fight;
'T was the Duke himself upraised it, and its bloody folds outspread,
Waved it, till his guard of barons all went down among the dead;
Then, amid the battle plunging, bravely bore the warrior's part,
Till the long pike of a Switzer cleft in twain his tyrant heart!

With their souls athirst for vengeance, through dark gorge and rocky glen,
On the footsteps of the flying, hot pursued the mountain men, —
Smiting down the hold invaders, till the ground for many a rood,
Round about that town beleaguered, was afloat with Austrian blood.
Then arose their shouts of triumph up amid the shadowy even, —
Loud rejoicings, fierce exultings, storming at the gates of heaven, —
Till a thousand mountain echoes rendered back the mighty cries,
With the sound of earth's contention making tumult in the skies.

But amid the rush of battle, or the victor's proud array,
Came the saviour of Helvetia? came the hero of the day?
Prone along the wet turf lay he, with the lances he had grasped,
All his valor's deadly trophies still against his brave heart clasped!
Feeling not the tempest-surging, hearing not the roar of strife, —
With the red rents in his bosom, and his young eye closed on life.
And when thus his comrades found him, there was triumph in their tears, —
He had gathered glory's harvest in that bloody sheaf of spears.

Lo, it is an ancient story, and, as through the shades of night,
We are gazing through dim ages, on that fierce, unequal fight; —
But the darkness is illumined by one grand, heroic deed,
And we hear the shout of Arnold, and we see his great heart bleed!

Yet to-day, O hero-martyr, does the Switzer guard thy name,
And to-day thy glorious legend touches all his heart with flame;
And with reverence meek and careful still he hands thy memory down,
By the chapel in the mountains, and the statue in the town.

Take thou courage, struggling spirit! Thus, upon life's battle-plain,
God for all his heroes careth, and they cannot fall in vain!
And of heaven for ever blessèd shall the soul heroic be
Who, oppression's close ranks breaking, makes a pathway for the free;
Though his faithful breast receiveth the sharp lances of the foe,
God, the God of freedom, counteth all the life-drops as they flow!
He shall have the tears of millions, and the homage of the brave, —
He shall have immortal crownings, and the world shall keep his grave.