Such things have been of yore,
In the gay regions where the citrons blow,
And purple summers all their sleepy glow

On the grape-clusters pour;
And where the palms to spicy winds are waving,
Along clear seas of melting sapphire, laving,
As with a flow of light, their southern shore.

Turn we to other climes!—
Far in the Druid-Isle a feast was spread,
'Midst the rock-altars of the warrior dead: *

And ancient battle-rhymes
Were chanted to the harp; and yellow mead
Went flowing round, and tales of martial deed,
And lofty songs of Britain's elder time;

But, ere the giant-fane
Cast its broad shadows on the robe of even,
Hush'd were the bards, and in the face of heaven,

O'er that old burial-plain Flash 'd the keen Saxon dagger!—Blood was streaming

Where late the mead-cup to the sun was gleaming, And Britain's hearths were heap'd that night in vain—

For they return'd no more! They that went forth at morn, with reckless heart,

* Stonehenge, said by some traditions to have been erected to the memory of Ambrosius, an early British king; and by others mentioned as a monumental record of the massacre of British chiefs here alluded to.

In that fierce banquet's mirth to hear their part;

And, on the rushy floor, And the bright spears and bucklers of the walls, The high wood-fires were blazing in their halls; But not for them—they slept—their feast was o'er I

Fear ye the festal hour! Ay, tremble when the cup of joy o'erflows! Tame down the swelling heart!—the bridal rose,

And the rich myrtle's flower Have veil'd the sword!—Red wines have sparkled fast

From venom'd goblets, and soft breezes pass'd,
With fatal perfume, through the revel's bower.

Twine the young glowing wreath!
But pour not all your spirit in the song,
Which through the sky's deep azure floats along,

Like summer's quickening breath!
The ground is hollow in the path of mirth:
Oh! far too daring seems the joy of earth,
So darkly press'd and girdled in by death!

SONG OF THE BATTLE OF
MORGARTEN.

In the year 1315, Switzerland was invaded by Duke Leopold of Austria, with a formidable army. It is well attested that this prince repeatedly declared he e would trample the audacious rustics under his feet;' and that he had procured a large stock of cordage, for the purpose of binding their chiefs, and putting them to death.

"The 15th October, 1315, dawned. The sun darted its first rays on the shields and armour of the advancing host; and this being the first army ever known to have attempted the frontiers of the cantons, the Swiss viewed its long line with various emotions. Montfort de Tettnang led the cavalry into the narrow pass, and soon filled the whole space between the mountain (Mount Sattel) and the lake. The fifty men on the eminence (above Morgarten) raised a sudden shout, and rolled down heaps of rocks and stones among the crowded ranks. The confederates on the mountain, perceiving the impression made by this attack, rushed down in close array, and fell upon the flank of the disordered column. With massy clubs they dashed in pieces the armour of the enemy, and dealt their blows and thrusts with long pikes. The narrowness of the defile admitted of no evolutions, and a slight frost having injured the road- the horses were impeded in all their motions; many leaped into the lake; all were startled; and at last the whole

column gave way, and fell suddenly back on the in-
fantry; and these last, as the nature of the country
did not allow them to open their files, were run over
by the fugitives, and many of them trampled to
death. A general rout ensued, and Duke Leopold
was, with much difficulty, rescued by a peasant, who
led him to Winterthur, where the historian of the
times saw him arrive in the evening, pale, sullen,
and dismayed." — Planta's History of the Helvetic
Confederacy.

The wine-month* shone in its golden prime,

And the red grapes clustering hung,
But a deeper sound, through the Switzer's clime,
Than the vintage-music, rung.

A sound, through vaulted cave,'
A sound, through echoing glen,
Like the hollow swell of a rushing wave;
—'Twas the tread of steel-girt men.

And a trumpet, pealing wild and far,

'Midst the ancient rocks was blown,
Till the Alps replied to that voice of war
With a thousand of their own.

And through the forest-glooms
Flash'd helmets to the day,
And the winds were tossing knightly plumes,
Like the larch-boughs in their play.

In Hasli's f wilds there was gleaming steel,
As the host of the Austrian pass'd;

* Wine-month, the German name for October,
t Hasli, a wild district in the canton of Berne.

And the Schreckhorns* rocks, with a savage peal, Made mirth of his clarion's blast.

Up 'midst the Righif snows

The stormy march was heard, With the charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose,

And the leader's gathering word.

But a band, the noblest band of all,

Through the rude Morgarten strait,
With blazon'd streamers, and lances tall,
Moved onwards in princely state.
They came with heavy chains,
For the race despised so long—
But amidst his Alp-domains,

The herdsman's arm is strong!

The sun was reddening the clouds of morn

When they enter'd the rock-defile,
And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn
Their bugles rung the while.
But on the misty height,
Where the mountain-people stood,
There was stillness, as of night,

When storms at distance brood.

There was stillness, as of deep dead night,

And a pause—but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might

Of the hostile shield and spear.

* Schreckhorn, the peak of terror, a mountain in the canton of Berne.

t Righi, a mountain in the canton of Scnwytz.