["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 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 infantry; 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 caves,

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.

1 Wine-month, the German name for October.

And through the forest-glooms
Flashed helmets to the day,

And the winds were tossing knightly plumes,
Like the larch-boughs in their play.

In Hasli's1 wilds there was gleaming steel,
As the host of the Austrian passed,

And the Schreckhorn's 2 rocks, with a savage peal,
Made mirth of his clarion's blast.

Up 'midst the Righi 3 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 blazoned 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 entered 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.

On wound those columns bright

Between the lake and wood,

But they looked not to the misty height
Where the mountain people stood.

The pass was filled with their serried power,
All helmed and mail-arrayed,

And their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower
In the rustling forest-shade.

There were prince and crested knight,
Hemmed in by cliff and flood,

When a shout arose from the misty height
Where the mountain people stood.

1 Hasli, a wild district in the canton of Berne.

2 Schreckhorn, the peak of terror, a mountain in the canton of Berne 3 Righi, a mountain in the canton of Schwytz.

And the mighty rocks came bounding down,
Their startled foes among,

With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown—
-Oh! the herdsman's arm is strong!

They came like lauwine1 hurled

From Alp to Alp in play,

When the echoes shout through the snowy world,
And the pines are borne away.

The fir-woods crashed on the mountain-side,
And the Switzers rushed from high,

With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride
Of the Austrian chivalry:

Like hunters of the deer,

They stormed the narrow dell,

And first in the shock, with Uri's spear,
Was the arm of William Tell.2

There was tumult in the crowded strait,
And a cry of wild dismay,

And many a warrior met his fate
From a peasant's hand that day!
And the empire's banner then
From its place of waving free,
Went down before the shepherd-men,
The men of the Forest-sea.3

With their pikes and massy clubs they brake
The cuirass and the shield,

And the war-horse dashed to the reddening lake
From the reapers of the field!

The field-but not of sheaves-
Proud crests and pennons lay,

Strewn o'er it thick as the birch-wood leaves,
In the Autumn tempest's way.

Oh! the sun in heaven fierce havoc viewed,
When the Austrian turned to fly,
And the brave, in the trampling multitude,
Had a fearful death to die!

And the leader of the war

At eve unhelmed was seen,

With a hurrying step on the wilds afar,
And a pale and troubled mien.

But the sons of the land which the freeman tills,

Went back from the battle-toil,

'Lauwine, the Swiss name for the avalanche.

2 William Tell's name is particularly mentioned amongst the confederates at

Morgarten.

>Forest-sea, the lake of the four cantous is also so called.

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To their cabin homes 'midst the deep green hills,
All burdened with royal spoil.

There were songs and festal fires
On the soaring Alps that night,
When children sprung to greet their sires
From the wild Morgarten fight.

WHENCE art thou, flower? From holy ground,
Where freedom's foot hath been!

Yet bugle-blast or trumpet-sound
Ne'er shook that solemn scene.

Flower of a noble field! thy birth

Was not where spears have crossed,

And shivered helms have strewn the earth, 'Midst banners won and lost.

But where the sunny hues and showers

Unto thy cup were given,

There met high hearts at midnight hours,
Pure hands were raised to heaven:

And vows were pledged that man should roam
Through every Alpine dell

Free as the wind, the torrent's foam,
The shaft of William Tell.

And prayer, the full deep flow of prayer,
Hallowed the pastoral sod;

And souls grew strong for battle there,
Nerved with the peace of God.

Before the Alps and stars they knelt,
That calm devoted band,

And rose, and made their spirits felt
Through all the mountain land.

Then welcome Grütli's free-born flower!

Even in thy pale decay

There dwells a breath, a tone, a power,

Which all high thoughts obey.