There was arming heard on land and wave, And the phantom forms of the tide-worn cave But at eve, the kingly hand THE CAVERN OF THE THREE TELLS. SWISS TRADITION. The three founders of the Helvetic Confederacy are thought to sleep in a cavern near the lake of Lucerne. The herdsmen call them the Three Tells; and say that they lie there in their antique garb, in quiet slumber; and when Switzerland is in her utmost need, they will awaken and regain the liberties of the land. See Quarterly Review, No. 44. The Grütli, where the confederates held their nightly meetings, is a meadow on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne, or Lake of the Forest-cantons, here called the Forest-sea. OH! enter not yon shadowy cave Seek not the bright spars there, Though the whispering pines that o'er it wave, With freshness fill the air: For there the Patriot Three, In the garb of old array'd, By their native Forest-sea The Patriot Three that met of yore And leagued their hearts on the Grütli shore, In the name of liberty! Now silently they sleep Amidst the hills they freed; They start not at the hunter's call, Nor the rush of a sudden torrent's fall, 40 LAYS OF MANY LANDS. And the Alpine herdsman's lay, But when the battle-horn is blown When spear-heads light the lakes, When Uri's beechen woods wave red With a leap, like Tell's proud leap, From the flashing billow sprung! They shall wake beside their Forest-sea, When they link'd the hands that made us free, And their voices shall be heard, And the land shall see such deeds again When Winkelried, on Sempach's plain, And the crowned casques,† o'erthrown, For the Kühreihen's‡ notes must never sound And the vines on freedom's holy ground Untrampled must remain ! *The point of rock on which Tell leaped from the boat of Gessler is marked by a chapel, and called the Tellensprung. † Crowned helmets, as a distinction of rank, are mentioned in Simond's Switzerland. The Kübreihen, the celebrated Ranz des Vaches. And the yellow harvest wave The men of Grütli sleep! SWISS SONG, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF AN ANCIENT BATTLE, The Swiss, even to our days, have continued to celebrate the anniversaries of ancient battles with much solemnity; assembling in the open air on the fields where their ancestors fought, to hear thanksgivings offered up by the priests, and the names of all who shared in the glory of the day enumerated. They afterwards walk in procession to chapels, always erected in the vicinity of such scenes, where masses are sung for the souls of the departed. See Planta's history of the Helvetic Confederacy. Look on the white Alps round! If yet they gird a land Where freedoin's voice and step are found, Forget ye not the band, The faithful band, our sires, who fell If yet, the wilds among, Our silent hearts may burn, Look on the white Alps round! The sound of battle rose! Their caves prolong'd the trumpet's b'ast, Their dark pines trembled as it pass'd! They saw the princely crest, They saw the knightly spear, The banner and the mail-clad breast They saw-and glorying there they stand, 42 LAYS OF MANY LANDS. Praise to the mountain-born, They left the vineyard and the field Our children's fearless feet may bound, Teach them in song to bless the band If by the wood-fire's blaze, Forget not then the shepherd-race, Who made the hearth a holy place! Look on the white Alps round! Comes o'er them with a gladdening sound, For blood first bathed its flowery sod, THE MESSENGER-BIRD. Some of the native Brazilians pay great veneration to a certain bird that sings mournfully in the night-time. They say it is a messenger which their deceased friends and relations have sent, and that it brings them news from the other world. See Picart's Ceremonies and Religious Customs. THOU art come from the spirits' land, thou bird! We know that the bowers are green and fair And we know that the friends we have lost are there, And we know they have quench'd their fever's thirst For there must the stream in its freshness burst, And we know that they will not be lured to earth By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth, And heard the tales of our fathers' days, But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain! -Do they love-do they love us yet? And the chief, of those that were wont to share We call them far through the silent night, But say, An expedition was actually undertaken by Juan Ponce de Leon, in the 16th century, with a view of discovering a wonderful fountain, believed by the natives of Puerto Rico to spring in one of the Lucayo Isles, and to possess the virtue of restoring youth to all who bathed in its waters.-See Robertson's History of America. |