The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
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THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS; OR, THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI.
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I
'Twas night upon the Alps. The Senn's wild horn,Like a wind's voice, had pour'd its last long tone,
Whose pealing echoes, through the larch-woods borne,
To the low cabins of the glens made known
That welcome steps were nigh. The flocks had gone,
By cliff and pine-bridge, to their place of rest;
The chamois slumber'd, for the chase was done;
His cavern-bed of moss the hunter press'd,
And the rock-eagle couch'd high on his cloudy nest.
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II
Did the land sleep?—the woodman's axe had ceasedIts ringing notes upon the beech and plane;
The grapes were gather'd in; the vintage feast
Was closed upon the hills, the reaper's strain,
Hush'd by the streams; the year was in its wane,
The night in its mid-watch; it was a time
E'en mark'd and hallow'd unto slumber's reign.
But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime,
And o'er his white Alps moved the spirit of the clime.
III
For there, where snows, in crowning glory spread,High and unmark'd by mortal footstep lay;
And there, where torrents, 'mid the ice-caves fed,
Burst in their joy of light and sound away;
And there, where freedom, as in scornful play,
Had hung man's dwellings 'midst the realms of air,
O'er cliffs the very birthplace of the day—
Oh! who would dream that tyranny could dare
To lay her withering hand on God's bright works e'en there?
IV
Yet thus it was—amidst the fleet streams gushingTo bring down rainbows o'er their sparry cell,
And the glad heights, through mist and tempest rushing
Up where the sun's red fire-glance earliest fell,
And the fresh pastures where the herd's sweet bell
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There peasant men their free thoughts might not tell
Save in the hour of shadows and of dread,
And hollow sounds that wake to Guilt's dull stealthy tread.
V
But in a land of happy shepherd homes,On its green hills in quiet joy reclining,
With their bright hearth-fires 'midst the twilight glooms,
From bowery lattice through the fir-woods shining—
A land of legends, and wild songs entwining
Their memory with all memories loved and blest—
In such a land there dwells a power, combining
The strength of many a calm but fearless breast;
And woe to him who breaks the Sabbath of its rest!
VI
A sound went up—the wave's dark sleep was broken—On Uri's lake was heard a midnight oar—
Of man's brief course a troubled moment's token
Th' eternal waters to their barriers bore;
And then their gloom a flashing image wore
Of torch-fires streaming out o'er crag and wood,
And the wild-falcon's wing was heard to soar
In startled haste—and by that moonlight flood,
A band of patriot men on Grutli's verdure stood.
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VII
They stood in arms: the wolf-spear and the bowHad waged their war on things of mountain race;
Might not their swift stroke reach a mail-clad foe?
—Strong hands in harvest, daring feet in chase,
True hearts in fight, were gather'd on that place
Of secret council.—Not for fame or spoil
So met those men in Heaven's majestic face;—
To guard free hearths they rose, the sons of toil,
The hunter of the rocks, the tiller of the soil.
VIII
O'er their low pastoral valleys might the tideOf years have flow'd, and still, from sire to son,
Their names and records on the green earth died,
As cottage-lamps, expiring one by one
In the dim glades, when midnight hath begun
To hush all sound.—But silent on its height,
The snow-mass, full of death, while ages run
Their course, may slumber, bathed in rosy light,
Till some rash voice or step disturb its brooding might.
IX
So were they roused—th' invading step had pass'dTheir cabin thresholds, and the lowly door,
Which well had stood against the Fohnwind's blast,
Could bar Oppression from their home no more.
Why, what had she to do where all things wore
Wild grandeur's impress?—In the storm's free way,
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Th' enduring and magnificent array
Of sovereign Alps, that wing'd their eagles with the day?
X
This might not long be borne—the tameless hillsHave voices from the cave and cataract swelling,
Fraught with His name, whose awful presence fills
Their deep lone places, and for ever telling
That He hath made man free! and they whose dwelling
Was in those ancient fastnesses, gave ear;
The weight of sufferance from their hearts repelling,
They rose—the forester—the mountaineer—
Oh! what hath earth more strong than the good peasant-spear?
XI
Sacred be Grutli's field—their vigil keepingThrough many a blue and starry summer night,
There, while the sons of happier lands were sleeping,
Had those brave Switzers met, and in the sight
Of the just God, who pours forth burning might
To gird the oppress'd, had given their deep thoughts way,
And braced their spirits for the patriot fight,
With lovely images of homes that lay
Bower'd 'midst the rustling pines, or by the torrent spray.
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XII
Now had endurance reach'd its bounds!—They cameWith courage set in each bright earnest eye,
The day, the signal, and the hour to name,
When they should gather on their hills to die,
Or shake the glaciers with their joyous cry
For the land's freedom.—'Twas a scene combining
All glory in itself—the solemn sky,
The stars, the waves their soften'd light enshrining,
And man's high soul supreme o'er mighty Nature shining.
XIII
Calmly they stood, and with collected mien,Breathing their souls in voices firm but low
As if the spirit of the hour and scene,
With the woods' whisper and the waves' sweet flow,
Had temper'd in their thoughtful hearts the glow
Of all indignant feeling. To the breath
Of Dorian flute, and lyre-note soft and slow,
E'en thus of old, the Spartan from its sheath
Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death.
XIV
And three, that seem'd as chieftains of the band,Were gather'd in the 'midst on that lone shore
By Uri's lake—a father of the land,
One on his brow the silent record wore
Of many days, whose shadows had pass'd o'er
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Of youth with sorrow.—Yet from memory's lore
Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams,
For he had walk'd with God, beside the mountain-streams.
XV
And his grey hairs, in happier times, might wellTo their last pillow silently have gone,
As melts a wreath of snow.—But who shall tell
How life may task the spirit?—He was one,
Who from its morn a freeman's work had done,
And reap'd his harvest, and his vintage press'd,
Fearless of wrong; and now, at set of sun,
He bow'd not to his years, for on the breast
Of a still chainless land he deem'd it much to rest.
XVI
But for such holy rest strong hands must toil,Strong hearts endure!—By that pale elder's side,
Stood one that seem'd a monarch of the soil,
Serene and stately in his manhood's pride,
Werner, the brave and true!—If men have died,
Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep,
He was a mate for such.—The voice that cried
Within his breast, “Arise!” came still and deep
From his far home, that smiled e'en then in moonlight sleep.
XVII
It was a home to die for!—As it roseThrough its vine-foliage, sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood, o'er the green repose
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And he whose life to that sweet spot was bound
Raised unto Heaven a glad yet thoughtful eye,
And set his free step firmer on the ground,
When o'er his soul its melodies went by
As through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy.
XVIII
But who was he, that on his hunting-spearLean'd with a prouder and more fiery bearing?
His was a brow for tyrant hearts to fear,
Within the shadow of its dark locks wearing
That which they may not tame—a soul declaring
War against earth's oppressors. 'Midst that throng,
Of other mould he seem'd, and loftier daring,
One whose blood swept high impulses along,
One that should pass, and leave a name for warlike song—
XIX
A memory on the mountains!—one to stand,When the hills echo'd with the deepening swell
Of hostile trumpets, foremost for the land,
And in some rock defile, or savage dell,
Array her peasant-children to repel
Th' invader, sending arrows for his chains!
Ay, one to fold around him, as he fell,
Her banner with a smile—for through his veins
The joy of danger flow'd, as torrents to the plains.
XX
There was at times a wildness in the lightOf his quick-flashing eye; a something, born
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And proud, and tameless, laughing fear to scorn!
It well might be!—Young Erni's step had worn
The mantling snows on their most regal steeps,
And track'd the lynx above the clouds of morn,
And follow'd where the flying chamois leaps
Across the dark-blue rifts, th' unfathom'd glacier deeps.
XXI
He was a creature of the Alpine sky,A being whose bright spirit had been fed
'Midst the crown'd heights of joy and liberty,
And thoughts of power. He knew each path which led
To the rock's treasure-caves, whose crystal shed
Soft light o'er secret fountains. At the tone
Of his loud horn, the Lammer-Geyer had spread
A startled wing; for oft that peal had blown
Where the free cataract's voice was wont to sound alone.
XXII
His step had track'd the waste, his soul had stirr'dThe ancient solitudes—his voice had told
Of wrongs to call down Heaven. That tale was heard
In Hasli's dales, and where the shepherds' fold
Their flocks in dark ravine and craggy hold
On the bleak Oberland; and where the light
Of day's last footstep bathes in burning gold
Great Righi's cliffs; and where Mount Pilate's height
Casts o'er his glassy lake the darkness of his might.
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XXIII
Nor was it heard in vain. There all things pressHigh thoughts on man. The fearless hunter pass'd,
And, from the bosom of the wilderness,
There leapt a spirit and a power to cast
The weight of bondage down—and bright and fast,
As the clear waters, joyously and free,
Burst from the desert-rock, it rush'd at last,
Through the far valleys; till the patriot three
Thus with their brethren stood, beside the Forest Sea.
XXIV
They link'd their hands, they pledged their stainless faith,In the dread presence of attesting Heaven,
They bound their hearts to suffering and to death,
With the severe and solemn transport given
To bless such vows. How nobly man had striven,
How man might strive, and vainly strive, they knew,
And call'd upon their God, whose arm had riven
The crest of many a tyrant, since He blew,
The foaming sea-wave on, and Egypt's might o'er-threw.
XXV
They knelt, and rose in strength. The valleys layStill in their dimness, but the peaks which darted
Into the bright mid-air, had caught from day
A flush of fire, when those true Switzers parted,
Each to his glen or forest, steadfast-hearted,
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Their setting glory, ere from slumber started
Ten thousand voices, of the mountains born—
So far was heard the blast of freedom's echoing horn!
XXVI
The ice-vaults trembled, when that peal came rendingThe frozen stillness which around them hung;
From cliff to cliff the avalanche descending,
Gave answer, till the sky's blue hollow rung;
And the flame-signals through the midnight sprung
From the Surennen rocks, like banners streaming
To the far Seelisberg; whence light was flung
On Grutli's field, till all the red lake gleaming,
Shone out, a meteor-heaven in its wild splendour seeming.
XXVII
And the winds toss'd each summit's blazing crest,As a host's plumage; and the giant pines,
Fell'd where they waved o'er crag and eagle's nest,
Heap'd up the flames. The clouds grew fiery signs,
As o'er a city's burning towers and shrines,
Reddening the distance. Wine-cups, crown'd and bright,
In Werner's dwelling flow'd; through leafless vines
From Walter's hearth stream'd forth the festive light,
And Erni's blind old sire gave thanks to heaven that night.
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XXVIII
Then on the silence of the snows there layA Sabbath's quiet sunshine—and its bell
Fill'd the hush'd air awhile, with lonely sway;
For the stream's voice was chain'd by Winter's spell.
The deep wood-sounds had ceased. But rock and dell
Rung forth, erelong, when strains of jubilee
Peal'd from the mountain-churches, with a swell
Of praise to Him who stills the raging sea—
For now the strife was closed, the glorious Alps were free!
In point of chronology, this poem should have followed “The Vespers of Palermo” and “Songs of the Cid.” Having been inadvertently omitted in its proper place, it is here inserted between the “Songs for Music” and the “Scenes and Hymns of Life,” in order more strikingly to exhibit the changes in style and habits of thought apparent between the earlier and later compositions of Mrs Hemans.
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |