The poetical works of James Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

Shep.
“Wanderer! bow'd with griefs and years,
Wanderer, with the cheek so pale,
O give language to those tears!
Tell their melancholy tale.”

Wand.

“Stranger-friend, the tears that flow
Down the channels of this cheek
Tell a mystery of woe
Which no human tongue can speak.

Not the pangs of ‘Hope deferr'd’
My tormented bosom tear:—
On the tomb of hope interr'd
Scowls the spectre of Despair.

Where the Alpine summits rise,
Height o'er height stupendous hurl'd;
Like the pillars of the skies,
Like the ramparts of the world:

Born in Freedom's eagle nest,
Rock'd by whirlwinds in their rage,
Nursed at Freedom's stormy breast,
Lived my sires from age to age.

High o'er Underwalden's vale,
Where the forest fronts the morn;
Whence the boundless eye might sail
O'er a sea of mountains borne;

There my little native cot
Peep'd upon my father's farm:—
Oh! it was a happy spot,
Rich in every rural charm!

There my life, a silent stream,
Glid along, yet seem'd at rest;
Lovely as an infant's dream
On the waking mother's breast.

Till the storm that wreck'd the world,
In its horrible career,
Into hopeless ruin hurl'd
All this aching heart held dear.

On the princely towers of Berne
Fell the Gallic thunder-stroke:
To the Lake of poor Lucerne,
All submitted to the yoke.

Reding then his standard raised,
Drew his sword on Brunnen's plain;
But in vain his banner blazed,
Reding drew his sword in vain.

Where our conquering fathers died;
Where their awful bones repose;

Thrice the battle's fate he tried,
Thrice o'erthrew his country's foes.

Happy then were those who fell
Fighting on their fathers' graves!
Wretched those who lived to tell,
Treason made the victors slaves!

Thus my country's life retired,
Slowly driven from part to part,
Underwalden last expired,
Underwalden was the heart.

In the valley of their birth,
Where our guardian mountains stand;
In the eye of heaven and earth,
Met the warriors of our land.

Like their Sires in olden time,
Arm'd they met in stern debate;
While in every breast sublime
Glow'd the Spirit of the State.

Gallia's menace fired their blood;
With one heart and voice they rose:
Hand in hand the heroes stood,
And defied their faithless foes.

Then to heaven, in calm despair,
As they turn'd the tearless eye,
By their country's wrongs they sware
With their country's rights to die.

Albert from the council came:
(My poor daughter was his wife;
All the valley lov'd his name;
Albert was my staff of life.)

From the council-field he came;
All his noble visage burn'd;
At his look I caught the flame,
At his voice my youth return'd.

Fire from heaven my heart renew'd;
Vigour beat through every vein;
All the powers that age had hew'd,
Started into strength again.

Sudden from my couch I sprang,
Every limb to life restored;
With the bound my cottage rang,
As I snatch'd my father's sword.

This the weapon they did wield,
On Morgarthen's dreadful day;
And through Sempach's iron field
This the ploughshare of their way.

Then, my Spouse! in vain thy fears
Strove my fury to restrain;
O my daughter! all thy tears,
All thy children's, were in vain.

Quickly from our hastening foes,
Albert's active care removed,
Far amidst the eternal snows,
These who loved us,—these beloved.

Then our cottage we forsook;
Yet, as down the steeps we pass'd,
Many an agonising look
Homeward o'er the hills we cast.

Now we reach'd the nether glen,
Where in arms our brethren lay;

Thrice five hundred fearless men,
Men of adamant were they!

Nature's bulwarks, built by Time,
'Gainst Eternity to stand,
Mountains terribly sublime,
Girt the camp on either hand.

Dim, behind, the valley brake
Into rocks that fled from view;
Fair in front the gleaming Lake
Roll'd its waters bright and blue.

'Midst the hamlets of the dale,
Stantz, with simple grandeur crown'd,
Seem'd the Mother of the vale,
With her children scatter'd round.

'Midst the ruins of the dale,
Now she bows her hoary head,
Like the Widow of the vale
Weeping o'er her offspring dead.

Happier then had been her fate,
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!

Why did justice not prevail?”

Wand.
“Ah! it was not thus to be!”

Shep.
—“Man of grief, pursue thy tale
To the death of Liberty.”