The poetical works of James Montgomery | ||
THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND:
A POEM, IN SIX PARTS.
I. PART I.
A Wanderer of Switzerland and his Family, consisting of his Wife, his Daughter, and her young Children, emigrating from their Country, in consequence of its Subjugation by the French, in 1798, arrive at the Cottage of a Shepherd, beyond the Frontiers, where they are hospitably entertained.
“Wanderer, whither dost thou roam?
Weary wanderer, old and grey;
Wherefore hast thou left thine home
In the sunset of thy day?”
Wanderer.
Stranger, I have lost my home:
Weary, wandering, old and grey,
Therefore, therefore do I roam.
Fainting in their weak embrace;
There my daughter's charms behold,
Withering in that widow'd face.
Worthy of the race of TELL,
In the battle's fiercest fire,
—In his country's battle fell!”
Shep.
“Switzerland then gave thee birth?”
Wand.
“Ay—'twas Switzerland of yore;
But, degraded spot of earth!
Thou art Switzerland no more:
Are the waves of ruin hurl'd;
Like the waters of the flood
Rolling round a buried world.”
Shep.
“Yet will Time the deluge stop:
Then may Switzerland be blest:
On St. Gothard's hoary top
Shall the Ark of Freedom rest.”
Wand.
“No!—Irreparably lost,
On the day that made us slaves,
Freedom's Ark, by tempest tost,
Founder'd in the swallowing waves.”
Shep.
All my blessings to partake;
Yet thrice welcome to my heart,
For thine injured country's sake.
Evening lingers with delight,
While she views her favourite star
Brightening on the brow of night.
Enter freely, freely share
All the comforts of my cot,
Humble shelter, homely fare.
With his family of grief;
Give the weary pilgrims rest,
Yield the Exiles sweet relief.”
Shep.'s Wife.
“I will yield them sweet relief:
Weary pilgrims! welcome here;
Welcome, family of grief!
Welcome to my warmest cheer.”
Wand.
“When in prayer the broken heart
Asks a blessing from above,
Heaven shall take the Wanderer's part.
Heaven reward the stranger's love.”
Shep.
High the winter-faggots raise:
See the crackling flames aspire;
O how cheerfully they blaze!
And, till supper-board be crown'd,
Closely draw your fireside chairs;
Form the dear domestic round.”
Wand.
“Host! thy smiling daughters bring,
Bring those rosy lads of thine:
Let them mingle in the ring
With these poor lost babes of mine.”
Shep.
“Join the ring, my girls and boys;
This enchanting circle, this
Binds the social loves and joys;
'Tis the fairy ring of bliss!”
Wand.
In the fairy ring of bliss,
Oft with me ye held your court;
I had once a home like this!
As my native country's rills;
The foundations of my cot
Were her everlasting hills.
Rich abundance round my lands;
And my father's cot no more
On my father's mountain stands.
When the Glaciers, dark with death,
Hang o'er precipices wild,
Hang—suspended by a breath:
Headlong down the steeps they fall;
—For a pulse will break the charm,—
Bounding, bursting, burying all.
When the chaos breaks on high,
All that view it from the vale,
All that hear it coming, die:—
O'er the wretched land of TELL,
Thus the Gallic ruin burst,
Thus the Gallic glacier fell!”
Shep.
“Hush that melancholy strain;
Wipe those unavailing tears:”
Wand.
“Nay—I must, I will complain;
'Tis the privilege of years:
Thus her anguish to impart:
And the tears that freely flow
Ease the agonising heart.”
Shep.
See the plenteous table crown'd;
And my wife's endearing smile
Beams a rosy welcome round.
Wholesome herbs, nutritious roots,
Honey from the wild-bee's nest,
Cheering wine and ripen'd fruits:
My paternal fields afford:—
On such fare our fathers fed;
Hoary pilgrim! bless the board.”
II. PART II.
After supper, the Wanderer, at the desire of his host, relates the sorrows and sufferings of his Country, during the Invasion and Conquest of it by the French, in connection with his own Story.
“Wanderer! bow'd with griefs and years,
Wanderer, with the cheek so pale,
O give language to those tears!
Tell their melancholy tale.”
Wand.
Down the channels of this cheek
Tell a mystery of woe
Which no human tongue can speak.
My tormented bosom tear:—
On the tomb of hope interr'd
Scowls the spectre of Despair.
Height o'er height stupendous hurl'd;
Like the pillars of the skies,
Like the ramparts of the world:
Rock'd by whirlwinds in their rage,
Nursed at Freedom's stormy breast,
Lived my sires from age to age.
Where the forest fronts the morn;
Whence the boundless eye might sail
O'er a sea of mountains borne;
Peep'd upon my father's farm:—
Oh! it was a happy spot,
Rich in every rural charm!
Glid along, yet seem'd at rest;
Lovely as an infant's dream
On the waking mother's breast.
In its horrible career,
Into hopeless ruin hurl'd
All this aching heart held dear.
Fell the Gallic thunder-stroke:
To the Lake of poor Lucerne,
All submitted to the yoke.
Drew his sword on Brunnen's plain;
But in vain his banner blazed,
Reding drew his sword in vain.
Where their awful bones repose;
Thrice o'erthrew his country's foes.
Fighting on their fathers' graves!
Wretched those who lived to tell,
Treason made the victors slaves!
Slowly driven from part to part,
Underwalden last expired,
Underwalden was the heart.
Where our guardian mountains stand;
In the eye of heaven and earth,
Met the warriors of our land.
Arm'd they met in stern debate;
While in every breast sublime
Glow'd the Spirit of the State.
With one heart and voice they rose:
Hand in hand the heroes stood,
And defied their faithless foes.
As they turn'd the tearless eye,
By their country's wrongs they sware
With their country's rights to die.
(My poor daughter was his wife;
All the valley lov'd his name;
Albert was my staff of life.)
All his noble visage burn'd;
At his look I caught the flame,
At his voice my youth return'd.
Vigour beat through every vein;
All the powers that age had hew'd,
Started into strength again.
Every limb to life restored;
With the bound my cottage rang,
As I snatch'd my father's sword.
On Morgarthen's dreadful day;
And through Sempach's iron field
This the ploughshare of their way.
Strove my fury to restrain;
O my daughter! all thy tears,
All thy children's, were in vain.
Albert's active care removed,
Far amidst the eternal snows,
These who loved us,—these beloved.
Yet, as down the steeps we pass'd,
Many an agonising look
Homeward o'er the hills we cast.
Where in arms our brethren lay;
Men of adamant were they!
'Gainst Eternity to stand,
Mountains terribly sublime,
Girt the camp on either hand.
Into rocks that fled from view;
Fair in front the gleaming Lake
Roll'd its waters bright and blue.
Stantz, with simple grandeur crown'd,
Seem'd the Mother of the vale,
With her children scatter'd round.
Now she bows her hoary head,
Like the Widow of the vale
Weeping o'er her offspring dead.
Ere she fell by such a foe,
Had an earthquake sunk her state,
Or the lightning laid her low!”
Shep.
“By the lightning's deadly flash
Would her foes had been consumed!
Or amidst the earthquake's crash
Suddenly, alive, entomb'd!
“Ah! it was not thus to be!”
Shep.
—“Man of grief, pursue thy tale
To the death of Liberty.”
III. PART III.
The Wanderer continues his Narrative, and describes the Battle and Massacre of Underwalden.
As the Gauls approach'd our shores,
Keels that darken'd all the tide,
Tempesting the Lake with oars.
With the clangour of alarms:
Shrill the signal-trumpet sang;
All our warriors leap'd to arms.
While the frantic foe drew nigh;
Grim as watching wolves we stood,
Prompt as eagles stretch'd to fly.
Burst their overwhelming might;
Back we hurl'd them from the strand,
Oft returning to the fight.
—Till the waves were warm with blood,
Till the booming waters swell'd
As they sank beneath the flood.
Underwalden's arms once more
Broke Oppression's black array,
Dash'd invasion from her shore.
Muttering vengeance as they fled:
Hope in us, by Conquest fired,
Raised our spirits from the dead.
To the dead they soon return'd;
Bright, on its eternal close,
Underwalden's glory burn'd.
Shed such sweet expiring light,
Ere the Gallic comet's blaze
Swept thy beauty into night:—
No recording Bard hath sung;
Yet be thine immortal name
Inspiration to my tongue!
In the wilderness of night,
Into loveliness and light;—
Darted on our sleeping fold;
Down the mountains, o'er the flood,
Dark as thunder-clouds they roll'd.
All the valley burst awake;
All were in a moment arm'd,
From the barriers to the lake.
When the graves give up their dead,
At the trumpet's voice once more
Shall those slumberers quit their bed.
Hides their ashes in its womb:
O! 'tis venerable earth,
Freedom's cradle, Freedom's tomb.
That unutterable fight;
Never rose the astonish'd sun
On so horrible a sight.
('Twas an omen of our fate)
Stoop'd, and from my scatter'd flock
Bore a lambkin to his mate.
Lo! a cloud of vultures lean,
By voracious famine stung,
Wildly screaming rush'd between.
Though by multitudes opprest,
Till their little ones were slain,
Till they perish'd on their nest.
Which our band of brethren waged;
More insatiate o'er their prey
Gaul's remorseless vultures raged.
Swoln with fury, grim with blood,
Headlong roll'd the hordes of slaves,
And ingulph'd us with a flood.
Firm in fortitude divine,
Like the eternal rocks we stood
In the cataract of the Rhine.
In a hurricane of fire,
When at length our phalanx fail'd,
Then our courage blazed the higher.
Fighting in dissever'd parts,
Weak and weaker grew our hands,
Strong and stronger still our hearts.
Shouting in the foremost fray,
Children raised their little arms
In their country's evil day.
Wives and husbands pour'd their breath;
Many a Youth and Maiden bled,
Married at thine altar, Death.
Bloodier still the battle grew:—
O ye Spirits of the slain,
Slain on those your prowess slew!
Ye that fell unwept, unknown;
Mourning for your country's fate,
But rejoicing in your own!
With so merciless a foe;
When the nerves of heroes fail'd,
Cowards then could strike a blow.
Smote the Father to the ground;
To the mother's heart a wound.
But at her expiring flame,
With fraternal feeling fired,
Lo! a band of Switzers came.
Like a Winter's weight of snow,
When the huge Lavanges break,
Devastating all below;
Swifter than the panting wind;
All before them fear and flight;
Death and silence all behind.
Bow'd before their thunder strokes,
When they laid the cedars low,
When they overwhelm'd the oaks!
Till, by numbers forced to yield,
Terrible in death they lay,
The Avengers of the Field.”
IV. PART IV.
The Wanderer relates the Circumstances attending the Death of Albert.
And the Spirits of the dead;
Pledge the venerable Grave,
Valour's consecrated bed.
This inspiring goblet take;
Drain the deep delicious bowl,
For thy martyr'd brethren's sake.”
Wand.
Valour's venerable bed:
Hail! the memory of the Brave;
Hail! the Spirits of the dead.
And their rich reward be this,—
Immortality of fame,
Immortality of bliss.”
Shep.
“On that melancholy plain,
In that conflict of despair,
How was noble Albert slain?
How didst thou, old Warrior, fare?”
Wand.
Where the heart of battle bled,
Where his country lost her life,
Glorious Albert bow'd his head.
And our stoutest soldiers fell,
—Where the dark rocks dimm'd the day,
Scowling o'er the deepest dell;
Lions rallying round their den,
Albert and his warriors stood:
We were few, but we were men.
Arm to arm repell'd the foe:
Every motion was a wound,
And a death was every blow.
Warmer with expiring light;
Thus autumnal meteors stream
Redder through the darkening night.
Who their dying deeds shall tell?
O, how gloriously they fought!
How triumphantly they fell!
Slain, not conquer'd,—they died free.
Albert stood,—himself an host:
Last of all the Swiss was he.
Climbs the Alps from steep to steep,
All the giant-mountains sleep—
Bright and beauteous from afar,
Shining into distant lands
Like a new-created star.
Albert was my sword and shield;
Till strange horror quench'd my sight,
And I fainted on the field.
When my soul return'd to day,
Vanish'd were the fiends of France,
—But in Albert's blood I lay.
On my lips he did resign;
Slain for me, he snatch'd his death
From the blow that menaced mine.
And was gazing on my face;
As I woke,—the spirit fled,
But I felt his last embrace.”
Shep.
“Man of suffering! such a tale
Would wring tears from marble eyes!”
Wand.
“Ha! my daughter's cheek grows pale!”
W.'s Wife.
“Help, O help! my daughter dies!”
Wand.
“Calm thy transports, O my wife!
Peace for these dear orphans' sake!”
W.'s Wife.
“O my joy, my hope, my life,
O my child, my child awake!”
Wand.
“God! O God, whose goodness gives;
God! whose wisdom takes away;
Spare my child!”
Shep.
—‘She lives, she lives!”
Wand.
“Lives?—my daughter, didst thou say?
In the dust will I adore
Thine unsearchable decrees;
—She was dead:—she lives once more!”
W.'s Dtr.
“When poor Albert died, no prayer
Call'd him back to hated life:
O that I had perish'd there,
Not his widow, but his wife!”
Wand.
“Dare my daughter thus repine?
Albert! answer from above;
Tell me,—are these infants thine,
Whom their mother does not love?”
W.'s Dtr.
Hear me, or my heart will break:
Dear is life, but only dear
For my parents', children's sake.
I am worthy yet of you;
Yes!—I am a mother still,
Though I feel a widow too.”
Wand.
“Mother, Widow, Mourner, all,
All kind names in one,—my child;
On thy faithful neck I fall;
Kiss me,—are we reconciled?”
W.'s Dtr.
“Yes, to Albert I appeal:—
Albert, answer from above,
That my father's breast may feel
All his daughter's heart of love.”
Shep.'s Wife.
“Faint and way-worn as they be
With the day's long journey, Sire,
Let thy pilgrim family
Now with me to rest retire.”
Wand.
Till the morrow we must part:
—Nay, my daughter, do not weep,
Do not weep and break my heart.
On your peaceful pillows light;
Angel-hands your eyelids close;
Dream of Paradise to-night.”
V. PART V.
The Wanderer, being left alone with the Shepherd, relates his Adventures after the Battle of Underwalden.
(For the good man never dies),
Bright beyond the gulf of death,
Lo! the land of promise lies.
In that land where sorrows cease;
And to Albert's ashes, laid
In the earth's cold bosom, peace.”
Wand.
Till the hour when twilight pale,
Like the ghost of dying day,
Wander'd down the darkening vale.
And with horror look'd around,
Where embracing, friends and foes,
Dead and dying, strew'd the ground.
Weeping where her husband bled,
Heedless though her babe was by,
Prattling to his father dead.
Turning up the ghastly slain,
Sought her son, her hero, there,
Whom she long'd to seek in vain.
On the eye that gleam'd in death;
And the evening-dews fell cold
On the lip that gasp'd for breath.
—She was childless by her look,—
With refreshing cordials came;
Of her bounty I partook.
Albert's precious corpse I bore
On these shoulders weak and old,
Bow'd with misery before.
As I stagger'd down the glen;
And I hid my charge at length
In its wildest, deepest den.
To the battle-scene, I sought,
'Mongst the slain, an axe and spade;—
With such weapons Freemen fought.
In that execrable strife;
Ploughshares in that horrid field
Bled with slaughter, breathed with life.
While the glimmering moon arose,
Thus I dug my Albert's grave;
There his hallow'd limbs repose.
Gush'd:—they fell like healing balm,
Till the whirlwind in my breast
Died into a dreary calm.
Where my martyr lay enshrined,
This forlorn, unhappy head,
Crazed with anguish, I reclined.
Soothing slumbers seem'd to creep,
Forth I sprang, with strange surprise,
From the clasping arms of sleep.
Heaved the turf with horrid throes,
And his grave beneath my head
Burst asunder;—Albert rose!
‘Wherefore hast thou left thy grave?’
—‘Fly, my father,’—he replied;
‘Save my wife—my children save.’—
This tremendous scene was o'er.
Darkness shut the gates of Death,
Silence seal'd them as before.
In astonishment severe;
Horror petrified my blood,—
I was wither'd up with fear.
O'er my limbs; I felt on fire,
Burning, quivering like a flame
In the instant to expire.”
Shep.
“Rather like the mountain-oak,
Tempest-shaken, rooted fast,
Grasping strength from every stroke,
While it wrestles with the blast.”
Wand.
Quickly quell'd the strange affright,
And undaunted o'er the field
I began my lonely flight.
Many an awful pause between,
Fits of light and darkness flew,
Wild and sudden o'er the scene.
Gleams of transient glory shed;
And the clouds, athwart the sky,
Like a routed army fled.
Heard alternate loud and low;
Shouts of victory swell'd the gale,
But the breezes murmur'd woe.
Where the Lake and Valley meet,
All my country's power and pride
Lay in ruins at my feet.
Underwalden's heart-strings broke.
When she saw her heroes slain,
And her rocks receive the yoke.
From their mothers' arms set free,
Oft those heroes gather'd flowers,
Often chased the wandering bee.
They had fed their fathers' flocks,
Told their love, and pledged their truth,
In the shadow of those rocks.
In the merry mingling dance,
Once they led their brides along,
Now!—Perdition seize thee, France!”
Shep.
“Heard not Heaven the accusing cries
Of the blood that smoked around,
While the life-warm sacrifice
Palpitated on the ground?”
Wand.
To confound the guilty foe;
But the thunder will not roar
Till the flash has struck the blow.
It shall burst on Gallia's head,
Sudden as the judgment-day
To the unexpecting dead.
Shall a fiery dragon start;
He shall drink his mother's blood,
He shall eat his father's heart.
He—but distance mocks my sight,
O thou great avenger, TIME!
Bring thy strangest birth to light.”
Shep.
“Prophet, thou hast spoken well,
And I deem thy words divine:
Now the mournful sequel tell
Of thy country's woes and thine.”
Wand.
By the midnight tempest tost,
In a sea of vapours dark,
In a gulf of clouds was lost;
Climbing many a weary steep,
Whence the closing scene I view'd
With an eye that would not weep.
And her hamlets blazed behind,
With ten thousand tongues of fire,
Writhing, raging in the wind.
Cast a grim and dreadful light;
Like funereal lamps they burn'd
In the sepulchre of night;
With a hoarse and hollow roar,
Seem'd a lake of living blood,
Wildly weltering on the shore.
Soon I spied the sacred spot,
Whence a slow consuming ray
Glimmer'd from my native cot.
And afresh my heart's wounds bled;
Still I gazed:—the spark expired—
Nature seem'd extinct:—I fled.—
Reach'd the lonely goat-herd's nest,
Where my wife, my children, lay—
Husband—Father—think the rest.”
VI. PART VI.
The Wanderer informs the Shepherd, that, after the example of many of his Countrymen flying from the Tyranny of France, it is his intention to settle in some remote province of America.
“Wanderer, whiter wouldst thou roam;
To what region far away
Bend thy steps to find a home,
In the twilight of thy day?”
Wand.
I am hastening to the West;
There my weary limbs to lay
Where the sun retires to rest.
Stretch'd beneath the evening sky,
Realms of mountains, dark with woods,
In Columbia's bosom lie.
Silent since the world began,
Dwells the virgin Solitude,
Unbetray'd by faithless man;
Where a slave was never known,
But where Nature worships God
In the wilderness alone;
There my children may be free:
I for them will find a home,
They shall find a grave for me.
In their native land repose,
Yet beneath the twilight star
Soft on mine the turf shall close.
When this storm of life is o'er,
Never since creation lay
On a human breast before;—
When she follows to the dead,
Shall my bosom's partner share
Her poor husband's lowly bed.
And my daughter's duteous tears
Bid the flowery verdure wave
Through the winter-waste of years.”
Shep.
May thy woes and wanderings cease;
Late and lovely be thine end;
Hope and triumph, joy and peace!
Brighten through the gathering gloom,
May thy latest moments shine
Through the night-fall of the tomb.”
Like the Phœnix on her nest,
Lo! new-fledg'd her wings appear,
Hovering in the golden West.
And beyond the roaring main
Find their native country there,
Find their Switzerland again.
Ocean, canst thou quench the heart?
No; I feel my country still,
LIBERTY! where'er thou art.
When our fathers sallied forth,
Full of confidence sublime,
From the famine-wasted North.
‘Wild as Scandinavia, give,
‘Power Eternal!—where our flocks
‘And our little ones may live.’
Led them, by a path unknown,
To that dear delightful land
Which I yet must call my own.
Soon their meliorating toil
Gave the forests to the flame,
And their ashes to the soil.
Till above the mountain-snows
Towering beauty show'd her head,
And a new creation rose!
We will pierce the savage woods,
Clothe the rocks in purple pride,
Plough the valleys, tame the floods;—
By a forest-sea embraced,
Shall make Desolation smile
In the depth of his own waste.
We shall dwell secure and free,
In a country all our own,
In a land of Liberty.”
Shep.
Unbeloved, shall bring to mind,
Warm with Evening's purple beams,
Dearer objects left behind;—
Caroll'd in a foreign clime,
When new echoes shall prolong,
—Simple, tender, and sublime;—
And, before thy banish'd eyes,
Underwalden's charming vale,
And thine own sweet cottage, rise!”
Wand.
By Morgarthen's awful fray;
By the field where Albert fell
In thy last and bitter day;
—Ha! the spell has waked the dead:
From her ashes to the skies
Switzerland exalts her head.
In immortal mail complete,
With the lightning in her hand,
And the Alps beneath her feet.
‘Freedom dawns, behold the day:
‘From the bed of bondage break,
‘'Tis your Mother calls,—obey.’
On each ancient battle-plain,
Utter groans, and toss like waves
When the wild blast sweeps the main.
All the chains that bind you slaves:
Rise,—your Mother's voice obey,
And appease your Fathers' graves.
Freemen, Soldiers, follow me.
Shout!—the victory is won,—
Switzerland and Liberty!”
Shep.
“Warrior, Warrior, stay thine arm!
Sheathe, oh sheathe, thy frantic sword!”
Wand.
“Ah! I rave—I faint:—the charm
Flies,—and memory is restored.
From the too transporting charm:—
Sleep for ever, O my sword!
Be thou wither'd, O mine arm!
—Yet I feel, where'er I roam,
That my heart is still the same,
Switzerland is still my home.”
The poetical works of James Montgomery | ||