The fire of conflict burned within,
The battle trembled to begin;

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed:
That line 'twere suicide to meet,

And perish at their tyrants' feet:
How could they rest within their graves,
And leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread
With clanging chains, above their head?

It must not be: this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power:
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield,
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the number she could boast,
Yet every freeman was a host,

And felt as 'twere a secret known

That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself were he
On whose sole arm hung victory.

It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him,-Arnold Winkelried!

There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.

Unmarked he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by the uplifting of his brow

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But 'twas no sooner thought than done,
The field was in a moment won;

"Make way for Liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp;
"Make way for Liberty!" he cried;
Their keen points met from side to side;
He bowed amidst them, like a tree,
And thus made way for Liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly;
"Make way for Liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart;
While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free;

Thus Death made way for Liberty!

James Montgomery [1771-1854]

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN

[AUGUST 10, 1388]

It fell about the Lammas tide,
When muir-men win their hay,
That the doughty Earl of Douglas rade
Into England, to take a prey.

He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,
With them the Lindsays gay;

But the Jardines wald not with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.

And they hae harried the dales o' Tyne,
And half o' Bambrough-shire,

And the Otter-dale they burned it hale,
And set it a' on fire.

Then he cam' up to Newcastle,

And rade it round about:

"O wha's the lord of this castle? Or wha's the lady o't?"

But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!
"I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay."

"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me,
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us shall dee."

He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,

And for to meet the Douglas there
He rode right furiouslie.

But O how pale his lady looked,

Frae aff the castle-wa',

As down before the Scottish

She saw proud Percy fa’.

spear

"Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,

I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
But your sword sall gae wi me.'

"Now gae ye up to Otterbourne,
And wait there dayis three,
And gin I come not ere they end,
A fause knight ca' ye me."

"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;

'Tis pleasant there to be; But there is naught at Otterbourne

To feed my men and me.

"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild frae tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kale
To fend my men and me.

"Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,
Where you sall welcome be;

And, if ye come not at three days' end,
A fause lord I'll ca' thee."

"Thither will I come," proud Percy said, "By the might of Our Ladye;"

"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, "My troth I plight to thee."

They licted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the bent sae broun;

They licted high on Otterbourne,

And pitched their pallions doun.

And he that had a bonnie boy,
He sent his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.

But up then spak' a little page,
Before the peep o' dawn:

"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord.
For Percy's hard at hand."

"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lie:

For Percy had not men yestreen
To dight my men and me.

"But I hae dreamed a dreary dream, Beyond the Isle of Sky;

I saw a deid man win a fight,

And I think that man was I."

He belted on his gude braid-sword,
And to the field he ran,

But he forgot the hewmont strong,
That should have kept his brain.

When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
I wot he was fu' fain;

They swakkit swords, till sair they swat,
And the blud ran down like rain.

But Percy wi' his gude braid-sword,
That could sae sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.

And then he called his little foot-page,
And said, "Run speedily,

And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomery.

"My nephew gude," the Douglas said, "What recks the death of ane? Last night I dreamed a dreary dream, And I ken the day's thy ain!

"My wound is deep; I fain wad sleep; Tak' thou the vanguard o' the three,

And bury me by the braken-bush,
That grows on yonder lilye lea.

"O bury me by the braken-bush, Beneath the blumin' brier;

Let never living mortal ken

That a kindly Scot lies here."

He lifted up that noble lord,

Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;

He hid him by the braken-bush,

That his merrie men might not see.