| |
| THERE are, with forms celestial, | |
| And faces starry-bright,— | |
| Throughout the joyous youth-time | |
| A hope and true delight,— | |
| Who fall, as age advances, | 5 |
| Beneath some sad eclipse, | |
| And leave no pleasant record | |
| To be told by fondest lips. | |
| |
| There are, in whom the Godhead, | |
| In youth but dimly seen, | 10 |
| More brightly glows and flashes, | |
| In conduct as in mien,— | |
| When years have laid their burthen | |
| On shoulder and on head,— | |
| So “the last days are the best days,” | 15 |
| As one of old has said. | |
| |
| Methinks no crown he needed,— | |
| Thus known to world-wide fame,— | |
| As one who wore so nobly | |
| The Swiss Deliverer’s name: | 20 |
| To be true Tell of Altorf,— | |
| What more could patriot need? | |
| And how could he be honored | |
| By any later deed? | |
| |
| And yet there was a crowning, | 25 |
| Unknown to history’s roll: | |
| One last great revelation | |
| That spoke the Switzer’s soul; | |
| And though his years of silence | |
| Have grown to centuries gray, | 30 |
| Why should we pause, to widen | |
| His glory, if we may? | |
| |
| There ’s a little stream, the Schächen, | |
| Not far from Altorf’s walls, | |
| That downward to its parent, | 35 |
| The Reuss, in tumult brawls; | |
| And dangerous is its current | |
| To feeble limb or hand, | |
| When those in lusty manhood | |
| Its force can scarce withstand. | 40 |
| |
| Old age had bowed Tell’s figure, | |
| And blanched his dark-brown hair; | |
| The hand that clove the apple | |
| No more such deed might dare;— | |
| When in that raging torrent | 45 |
| He saw a struggling child, | |
| While on the bank the mother | |
| In helpless fright ran wild. | |
| |
| The Switzer paused no moment; | |
| Though prudence well might ask | 50 |
| If yet the limb held vigor | |
| For such a venturous task. | |
| He plunged to do that rescue: | |
| He sank, to rise no more | |
| Until, with weeds and timber, | 55 |
| He floated dead to shore. | |
| |
| And thus the great life ended: | |
| God!—was it not the best | |
| Of all the deeds of valor | |
| That won a hero’s rest? | 60 |
| So mused I, by the Schächen: | |
| So say we, true and well, | |
| That the last deed was the best deed, | |
| That closed the life of Tell! | |
| |
