 | The Poems of Thomas Davis |  |
194
WILLIAM TELL AND THE GENIUS OF SWITZERLAND.
I.
Tell.
—You have no fears,
My native land!
Then dry your tears,
And draw your brand.
A million made a vow
To free you.—Wherefore, now,
Tears again, my native land?
My native land!
Then dry your tears,
And draw your brand.
A million made a vow
To free you.—Wherefore, now,
Tears again, my native land?
II.
Genius.—I weep not from doubt,
I weep not for dread;
There's strength in your shout,
And trust in your tread.
I weep, for I look for the coming dead,
Who for Liberty's cause shall die;
And I hear a wail from the widow's bed
Come mixed with our triumph-cry.
Though dire my woes, yet how can I
Be calm when I know such suffering's nigh?
I weep not for dread;
There's strength in your shout,
And trust in your tread.
I weep, for I look for the coming dead,
Who for Liberty's cause shall die;
And I hear a wail from the widow's bed
Come mixed with our triumph-cry.
Though dire my woes, yet how can I
Be calm when I know such suffering's nigh?
195
III.
Tell.—Death comes to all,
My native land!
Weep not their fall—
A glorious band!
Famine and slavery
Slaughter more cruelly
Than Battle's blood-covered hand!
My native land!
Weep not their fall—
A glorious band!
Famine and slavery
Slaughter more cruelly
Than Battle's blood-covered hand!
IV.
Genius.—Yes, and all glory
Shall honour their grave,
With shrine, song, and story,
Denied to the slave.
Thus pride shall so mingle with sorrow,
Their wives half their weeping will stay;
And their sons long to tempt on the morrow
The death they encounter to-day.
Then away, sons, to battle away!
Draw the sword, lift the flag, and away!
Shall honour their grave,
With shrine, song, and story,
Denied to the slave.
Thus pride shall so mingle with sorrow,
Their wives half their weeping will stay;
And their sons long to tempt on the morrow
The death they encounter to-day.
Then away, sons, to battle away!
Draw the sword, lift the flag, and away!
Just before the insurrection which expelled the Austrians, Tell and some of his brother conspirators spent a night on the shore of the Underwald Lake, consulting for liberty; and while they were thus engaged, the genius of Switzerland appeared to them, and she was armed, but weeping. “Why weep you, mother?” said Tell; and she answered, “I see dead patriots, and hear their orphans wailing;”— and he said again to her, “The tyrant kills us with his prisons and taxes, and poisons our air with his presence; war-death is better;” and she said, “It is better”—and the cloud passed from her brow, and she gave him a spear and bade him conquer.—Author's Note.
| The Poems of Thomas Davis | |