As a triumphant banner!-Such things are
Even now-and I am here!

Anselmo, Alas, be calm!

To the same grave ye press,-thou that dost pine
Beneath a weight of chains, and they that rule
The fortunes of the fight.

Raimond. Ay! Thou canst feel

The calm thou wouldst impart, for unto thee
All men alike, the warrior and the slave,
Seem, as thou sayst, but pilgrims, pressing on
To the same bourne. Yet call it not the same!
Their graves, who fall in this day's fight, will be
As altars to their country, visited

By fathers with their children, bearing wreaths,
And chanting hymns in honour of the dead:
Will mine be such?

VITTORIA rushes in wildly, as if pursued.
Vittoria. Anselmo! art thou found?
Haste, haste, or all is lost. Perchance thy voice,
Whereby they deem Heaven speaks, thy lifted cross,
And prophet-mien, may stay the fugitives,
Or shame them back to die.

Anselmo. The fugitives!

What words are these ?-the sons of Sicily
Fly not before the foe?

Vittoria. That I should say

It is too true!

Anselmo. And thou-thou bleedest, lady!

Oh, for one moment of the thunderbolt
To set the strong man free!

Vittoria (after gazing upon him earnestly).
Why, 'twere a deed

Worthy the fame and blessing of all time,
To loose thy bonds, thou son of Procida!
Thou art no traitor:-from thy kindled brow
Looks out thy lofty soul!-Arise! go forth!
And rouse the noble heart of Sicily
Unto high deeds again. Anselmo, haste;
Unbind him! Let my spirit still prevail,
Ere I depart-for the strong hand of death
Is on me now.

(She sinks back against a pillar.)
Anselmo. Oh Heaven! the life-blood streams
Fast from thy heart--thy troubled eyes grow dim.
Who hath done this?

Vittoria. Before the gates I stood,

And in the name of him, the loved and lost,
With whom I soon shall be, all vainly strove
To stay the shameful flight. Then from the foe,
Fraught with my summons to his viewless home,
Came the fleet shaft which pierced me.

Anselmo. Yet, oh yet,

It may not be too late. Help, help!

Vittoria. Away!

Bright is the hour which brings me liberty!

(Attendants enter.)

Haste, be those fetters riven!-Unbar the gates,

Vittoria. Peace! heed not me, when Sicily is And set the captive free!
lost!

I stood upon the walls, and watched our bands,
As, with their ancient, royal banner spread,
Onward they marched. The combat was begun,
The fiery impulse given, and valiant men
Had sealed their freedom with their blood-when
lo!

That false Alberti led his recreant vassals
To join th' invader's host.

Raimond. His country's curse

Rest on the slave for ever!

Vittoria. Then distrust

E'en of their nobler leaders, and dismay,
That swift contagion, on Palermo's bands
Came, like a deadly blight. They fled!--Oh shame!
E'en now they fly!-Ay, through the city gates
They rush, as if all Etna's burning streams
Pursued their winged steps!

Raimond. Thou hast not named
Their chief-Di Procida-He doth not fly.

Vittoria. No! like a kingly lion in the toils,
Daring the hunters yet, he proudly strives

But all in vain! The few that breast the storm,
With Guido and Montalba, by his side,
Fight but for graves upon the battle-field.

(The Attendants seem to hesitate.)
Know ye not her

Who should have worn your country's diadem?
Attendants. Oh, lady, we obey.

(They take off Raimond's chains. He springs
up exultingly.)

Raimond. Is this no dream?

-Mount, eagle! thou art free!-Shall I then die,
Not 'midst the mockery of insulting crowds,
But on the field of banners, where the brave
Are striving for an immortality?

-It is e'en so!-Now for bright arms of proof,
A helm, a keen-edged falchion, and e'en yet
My father may be saved!

Vittoria. Away, be strong!
And let thy battle-words, to rule the storm,
(He rushes out.)

Be-Conradin!

Oh! for one hour of life
To hear that name blent with th' exulting shout
Of victory!-'t will not be !-A mightier power
Doth summon me away.

Anselmo. To purer worlds
Raise thy last thoughts in hope.

Vittoria. Yes! he is there,

All glorious in his beauty! Conradin !

Raimond. And I am here!-Shall there be Death parted us-and death shall re-unite!

power, O God!

In the roused energies of fierce despair,

To burst my heart-and not to rend my chains?

-He will not stay!-it is all darkness now!
Night gathers o'er my spirit.
(She dies.)

Anselmo. She is gone!

It is an awful hour which stills the heart
That beat so proudly once.-Have mercy, Heaven!
(He kneels beside her.)
(The scene closes.)

SCENE IV.-BEFORE THE GATES OF PALERMO.
SICILIANS flying tumultuously towards the Gates.

|(And he can tame the mightiest) hath subdued
My towering nature thus!-Yet is he welcome
That youth-'twas in his pride he rescued me!
I was his deadliest foe, and thus he proved
His fearless scorn. Ha! ha! but he shall fail
To melt me into womanish feebleness.
There I still baffle him-the grave shall seal

Voices (without). Montjoy! Montjoy! St. Den- My lips for ever-mortal shall not hear

mis for Anjou!

Provençals, on!

Sicilians. Fly, fly, or all is lost!

(Raimond appears in the gateway, armed, and
carrying a banner.)

Raimond. Back, back, I say! ye men of Sicily!
All is not lost! Oh shame!-A few brave hearts
In such a cause, ere now, have set their breasts
Against the rush of thousands, and sustained,
And made the shock recoil.-Ay, man, free man,
Still to be called so, hath achieved such deeds
As heaven and earth have marvelled at; and souls,
Whose spark yet slumbers with the days to come,
Shall burn to hear: transmitting brightly thus
Freedom from race to race!-Back! or prepare,
Amidst your hearths, your bowers, your very
shrines,

To bleed and die in vain!-Turn, follow me!
Conradin, Conradin !—for Sicily
His spirit fights!-Remember Conradin !

(They begin to rally around him.) Ay, this is well!-Now follow me, and charge! The Provençals rush in, but are repulsed by the Sicilians.)

Montalba say-" Forgive!"

(The scene closes.)

(He dies.)

Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait'rous plot Was mine alone. (He is led away.) Procida. Attest it, earth and Heaven! My son is guiltless!-Hear it, Sicily! [Excunt. The blood of Procida is noble still!

SCENE V.-PART OF THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

MONTALBA enters wounded, and supported by RAIMOND, whose face is concealed by his helmet.

Raimond. Here rest thee, warrior.

Montalba. Rest, ay, death is rest,

-My son!-He lives, he lives!-His voice shall
speak

Forgiveness to his sire!-His name shall cast
Its brightness o'er my soul!

Guido. Oh, day of joy!

The brother of my heart is worthy still

And such will soon be mine-But, thanks to thee, The lofty name he bears.

I shall not die a captive. Brave Sicilian!
These lips are all unused to soothing words,
Or I should bless the valour which hath won
For my last hour, the proud free solitude
Wherewith my soul would gird itself.-Thy name?
Raimond. 'Twill be no music to thine ear, Mon-
talba.

ANSELMO enters.

Procida. Anselmo! welcome!

In a glad hour we meet, for know, my son
Is guiltless.

Anselmo. And victorious! by his arm
All hath been rescued.

Procida. How! th' unknown-
Anselmo. Was he!

Thy noble Raimond! By Vittoria's hand
Freed from his bondage in that awful hour
When all was flight and terror.

Procida. Now my cup

Of joy too brightly mantles!-Let me press
My warrior to a father's heart-and die;
For life hath nought beyond-Why comes he

not?

Anselmo, lead me to my valiant boy!

Anselmo. Temper this proud delight

Procida. What means that look ?

He hath not fallen?

Anselmo. He lives.

Procida. Away, away!

Bid the wide city with triumphal pomp
Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour

Atone for all his wrongs!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-GARDEN OF A CONVENT. RAIMOND is led in wounded, leaning on Attendants.

Raimond. Bear me to no dull couch, but let me

die

In the bright face of nature!-Lift my helm,
That I may look on heaven.

First Attendant (to Second Attendant).

him to rest

On this green sunny bank, and I will call
Some holy sister to his aid; but thou
Return unto the field, for high-born men
There need the peasant's aid.

With the green shining laurel, when their brows
Wore death's own impress-and it may be thus
E'en yet with me!-They freed me, when the foe
Had half prevailed, and I have proudly earned,
With my heart's dearest blood, the meed to die
Within thine arms.

Constance. Oh! speak not thus-to die!
These wounds may yet be closed.

(She attempts to bind his wounds.) Look on me, love!

"Tis full of hope! and from thy kindled eye
Why, there is more than life in thy glad mien,
Breaks e'en unwonted light, whose ardent ray
Seems born to be immortal!

Raimond. 'Tis e'en so!

Lay The parting soul doth gather all her fires

[Exit Second Attendant. (To Raimond). Here gentler hands Shall tend thee, warrior; for in these retreats They dwell, whose vows devote them to the care Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them! [Exit First Attendant. Raimond. Thus have I wished to die!-'Twas

a proud strife!

My father blessed th' unknown who rescued him,
(Blessed him, alas! because unknown!) and Guido,

Beside me bravely struggling, called aloud,
"Noble Sicilian, on!" Oh! had they deemed
'Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurned
Mine aid, though 'twas deliverance; and their

looks

Around her: all her glorious hopes, and dreams
And burning aspirations, to illume

The shadowy dimness of th' untrodden path
Which lies before her; and, encircled thus,
Awhile she sits in dying eyes, and thence
Sends forth her bright farewell. Thy gentle cares
Are vain, and yet I bless them.

Constance. Say, not vain;

The dying look not thus. We shall not part! Raimond. I have seen death ere now, and known him wear

Full many a changeful aspect.

Constance. Oh! but none

Radiant as thine, my warrior!-Thou wilt live!
Look round thee!-all is sunshine—is not this
A smiling world?

Raimond. Ay, gentlest love, a world
of joyous beauty and magnificence,

Almost too fair to leave!-Yet must we tame
Our ardent hearts to this!-Oh, weep thou not!

Had fallen, like blights, upon me.-There is one,There is no home for liberty, or love,
Whose eye ne'er turned on mine, but its blue light
Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist
Raised by deep tenderness!-Oh might the soul
Set in that eye, shine on me ere I perish!
-Is 't not her voice?

CONSTANCE enters, speaking to a NUN, who turns into

another path.

Constance. Oh! happy they, kind sister,
Whom thus ye tend; for it is theirs to fall
With brave men side by side, when the roused
heart

Beats proudly to the last!-There are high souls
Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied!
(She approaches Raimond).

Beneath these festal skies!-Be not deceived!
My way lies far beyond!—I shall be soon
That viewless thing which, with its mortal weeds
Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust,
Forgets not how to love!

Constance. And must this be?

Heaven, thou art merciful!-Oh! bid our souls
Depart together!

Raimond. Constance! there is strength
Within thy gentle heart, which hath been proved
Nobly for me:-Arouse it once again!

Thy grief unmans me—and I fain would meet
That which approaches, as a brave man yields
With proud submission to a mightier foe.

Young warrior, is there aught-thou here, my-It is upon me now!
Raimond!

Thou here-and thus!-Oh! is this joy or wo?
Raimond. Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed
love,

E'en on the grave's dim verge!-yes! it is joy!
My Constance! victors have been crowned, ere

now

Constance. I will be calm.

Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond,
And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs,
They shall but rock thee to thy rest. There is
A world, (ay, let us seek it!) where no blight
Falls on the beautiful rose of youth, and there
I shall be with thee soon!

PROCIDA and ANSELMO enter. PROCIDA on seeing | From which the eye doth radiantly unclose:

The League of the Alps,

OR

THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRÜTLI.

ADVERTISEMENT.

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,

It was in the year 1308, that the Swiss rose against the tyranny of the Bailiffs appointed over them by Albert of Austria. The field called the Grütli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Uri and Unterwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Fürst (the And the rock-eagle couched, high on his cloudy father-in-law of William Tell), Werner Stauffacher, and Erni (or Arnold) Melchthal, as their place of meeting, to deliberate on the accomplishment of their projects.

"Hither came Fürst and Melchthal, along secret paths over the heights, and Stauffacher in his boat across the Lake of the Four Cantons. On the night preceding the 11th of November, 1307, they met here, each with ten associates, men of approved worth; and while at this solemn hour they were wrapt in the contemplation that on their success depended the fate of their whole posterity, Werner, Walter, and Arnold held up their hands to heaven,

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 hollowed into Slumber's reign.
But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime,

and in the name of the Almighty, who has created And o'er his white Alps moved the Spirit of the

man to an inalienable degree of freedom, swore

jointly and strenuously to defend that freedom. The thirty associates heard the oath with awe; and with uplifted hands attested the same God, and all his saints, that they were firmly bent on offering up their lives for the defence of their injured liberty. They then calmly agreed on their future proceedings, and for the present, each returned to his hamlet."-Planta's History of the Helvetic Confederacy.

On the first day of the year 1308, they succeeded in throwing off the Austrian yoke, and "it is well attested," says the same author, "that not one drop of blood was shed on this memorable occasion, nor had one proprietor to lament the loss of a claim, a privilege, or an inch of land. The Swiss met on the succeeding sabbath, and once more confirmed by oath their ancient, and (as they fondly named it) their perpetual league.”

I.

'Twas night upon the Alps.-The Senn's (1) wild horn,

Like a wind's voice, had poured its last long tone,

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 would 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