Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS; OR THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS; OR THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Twas night upon the alps -- the senn's wild horn
Last Line: For now the strife was closed, the glorious alps were free!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Freedom; Switzerland - Wars; Liberty


I.

'TWAS night upon the Alps. -- The Senn's wild horn,
Like a wind's voice, had poured 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 slumbered, for the chase was done;
His cavern-bed of moss the hunter prest,
And the rock-eagle couched, high on his cloudy nest.

II.

Did the land sleep? -- the woodman's axe had ceased
Its ringing notes upon the beech and plane;
The grapes were gathered in; the vintage feast
Was closed upon the hills, the reaper's strain
Hushed by the streams; the year was in its wane,
The night in its mid-watch; it was a time
E'en marked and hallowed 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 unmarked by mortal footstep lay;
And there, where torrents, 'midst 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 birth-place 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 gushing
To 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
Recalled such life as Eastern patriarchs led; --
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.

VII.

They stood in arms -- the wolf-spear and the bow
Had 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 gathered on that place
Of secret council. -- Not for fame or spoil
So met those men in Heaven's maiestic 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 tide
Of years have flowed, 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 past
Their cabin-thresholds, and the lowly door,
Which well had stood against the Fohnwind's blast,
Could bar Oppression from their homes no more. --
Why, what had she to do where all things wore
Wild Grandeur's impress? -- In the storm's free way,
How dared she lift her pageant crest before
Th' enduring and magnificent array
Of sovereign Alps, that winged their eagles with the day

X.

This might not long be borne -- the tameless hills
Have 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-speark

XI.

Sacred be Grutli's field! -- their vigil keeping
Through many a blue and starry summer-night,
There, while the sons of happier lands were sleeping,
Had these brave Switzers met; and in the sight
Of the just God, who pours forth burning might
To gird the oppressed, had given their deep thoughts way,
And braced their spirits for the patriot-fight,
With lovely images of homes, that lay
Bowered 'midst the rustling pines, or by their torrent-spray.

XII.

Now had endurance reached its bounds! -- They came
With 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 softened 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 wood's whisper, and the wave's sweet flow,
Had tempered 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 seemed as chieftains of the band,
Were gathered 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 passed o'er
His path amongst the hills, and quenched the dreams
Of youth with sorrow. -- Yet from memory's lore
Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams,
For he had walked with God, beside the mountain streams.

XV.

And his grey hairs, in happier times, might well
To 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 reaped his harvest, and his vintage pressed,
Fearless of wrong; -- and now, at set of sun,
He bowed not to his years, for on the breast
Of a still chainless land, he deemed 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 seemed 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 rose,
Through its vine-foliage sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood, o'er the green repose
And laughing sunshine of the pastures round;
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-spear
Leaned 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 seemed, 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 echoed 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 flowed, as torrents to the plains.

XX.

There was at times a wildness in the light
Of his quick-flashing eye; a something, born
Of the free Alps, and beautifully bright,
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 tracked the lynx above the clouds of morn,
And followed where the flying chamois leaps
Across the dark-blue rifts, th' unfathomed glacier-deeps.

XXI.

He was a creature of the Alpine sky,
A being, whose bright spirit had been fed
'Midst the crowned heights with joy and liberty,
And thoughts of power. -- He knew each path which led
To the rock's treasure-caves, whose crystals 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 tracked the waste, his soul had stirred
The 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.

XXIII.

Nor was it neard in vain. -- There all things press
High thoughts on man. -- The fearless hunter passed,
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 rushed, at last,
Through the far valleys; till the patriot-three
Thus with their brethren stood, beside the Forest Sea.

XXIV.

They linked 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 man had striven,
How man might strive, and vainly strive, they knew,
And called 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'erthrew.

XXV.

They knelt, and rose in strength. -- The valleys lay
Still in the 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,
And full of hope. Not many suns had worn
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 rending
The frozen stillness which around them hung;
From cliff to cliff the avalanche descending,
Gave answer, till the sky's blue hollows 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 tossed each summit's blazing crest,
As a host's plumage; and the giant pines,
Felled where they waved o'er crag and eagle's nest.
Heaped up the flames. The clouds grew fiery signs,
As o'er a city's burning towers and shrines,
Reddening the distance. Wine-cups, crowned and bright,
In Werner's dwelling flowed; through leafless vines,
From Walter's hearth streamed forth the festive light,
And Erni's blind old sire gave thanks to Heaven that night.

XXVIII.

Then, on the silence of the snows there lay
A Sabbath's quiet sunshine, -- and its bell
Filled the hushed air awhile, with lonely sway;
For the stream's voice was chained by Winter's spell,
The deep wood-sounds had ceased. -- But rock and dell
Rung forth, ere long, when strains of jubilee
Pealed 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!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net