But a deeper sound, through the Switzer's clime,
Than the vintage-music, rung.

A sound, through vaulted cave,
A sound, through echoing glen,
Like the hollow swell of a rushing wave;
'Twas the tread of steel-girt men.

And a trumpet, pealing wild and far,

'Midst the ancient rocks was blown, Till the Alps replied to that voice of war With a thousand of their own.

And through the forest-glooms
Flash'd helmets to the day,

And the winds were tossing knightly plumes,
Like the larch-boughs in their play.

In Hasli's wilds there was gleaming steel,
As the host of the Austrian pass'd;
And the Schreckhorn's rocks, with a savage peal,
Made mirth of his clarion's blast.

Up 'midst the Righi snows
The stormy march was heard,

With the charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose,
And the leader's gathering word.

But a band, the noblest band of all,
Through the rude Morgarten strait,
With blazon'd streamers, and lances tall,
Moved onwards in princely state.

They came with heavy chains, For the race despised so longBut amidst his Alp-domains,

The herdsman's arm is strong!

The sun was reddening the clouds of morn
When they enter'd the rock-defile,
And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn
Their bugles rung the while.
But on the misty height,
Where the mountain-people stood,

There was stillness, as of night,
When storms at distance brood.

There was stillness, as of deep dead night,
And a pause-but not of fear,
While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might
Of the hostile shield and spear.

On wound those columns bright
Between the lake and wood,
But they look'd not to the misty height
Where the mountain-people stood.

The pass was fill'd with their serried power,
All helm'd and mail-array'd,

And their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower
In the rustling forest-shade.

There were prince and crested knight,
Hemm'd in by cliff and flood,

When a shout arose from the misty height
Where the mountain-people stood.

And the mighty rocks came bounding down,
Their startled foes among,

With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown-
-Oh! the herdsman's arm is strong!
They came like lauwine hurl'd
From Alp to Alp in play,

When the echoes shout through the snowy
And the pines are borne away.

The fir-woods crash'd on the mountain-side,
And the Switzers rush'd from high,

With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride Of the Austrian chivalry :

Like hunters of the deer,

They storm'd the narrow dell,

And first in the shock, with Uri's spear,
Was the arm of William Tell.

There was tumult in the crowded strait,
And a cry of wild dismay,


And many a warrior met his fate
From a peasant's hand that day!

And the empire's banner then
From its place of waving free,
Went down before the shepherd-men,
The men of the Forest-sea.

With their pikes and massy clubs they brake
The cuirass and the shield,

And the war-horse dash'd to the reddening lake
From the reapers of the field!

The field-but not of sheaves-
Proud crests and pennons lay,
Strewn o'er it thick as the birch-wood leaves,
In the autumn tempest's way.

Oh! the sun in heaven fierce havoc view'd,
When the Austrian turn'd to fly,
And the brave, in the trampling multitude,
Had a fearful death to die!

And the leader of the war
At eve unhelm'd was seen,

With a hurrying step on the wilds afar,
And a pale and troubled mien.

But the sons of the land which the freeman tills,
Went back from the battle-toil,

To their cabin homes 'midst the deep green hills,
All burden'd with royal spoil.

There were songs and festal fires
On the soaring Alps that night,
When children sprung to greet their sires
From the wild Morgarten fight.


[Plato, one of the most distinguished philosophers of antiquity, and founder of the academic sect, was born B.C. 430. In his youth he applied himself to poetry and painting, both of which he relinquished to become a disciple of Socrates. He died at the age of 82, B.C. 348, and statues and altars were erected to his memory.]

HAVING talked awhile, he arose, and went into an inner room to wash himself: and Crito following him, enjoined us to stay and expect his return. We therefore expected, discoursing among ourselves of the things that had been commemorated by him, and conferring our judgments concerning them. And we frequently spake of the calamity that seemed to impend on us by his death: concluding, it would certainly come to pass, that as sons deprived of their father, so should we disconsolately spend the remainder of our life. After he had been washed, and his children were brought to him, (for he had two sons very young, and a third, almost a youth) and his wives also were come; he spake to them before Crito, and gave them his last commands: so he gave order to his wives and children to retire. Then he came back to us. By this time the day had declined almost to the setting of the sun; for he had staid long in the room where he washed himself. Which done, he returned, and sate to repose himself, not speaking much after that. Then came the Minister of the Eleven, the executioner; and addressing himself to him, "I do not believe, Socrates," said he, "that I shall reprehend that in you, which I am wont to reprehend in others: that they are angry with me, and curse me, when by command of the magistrates (whom I am by my office obliged to obey) I come and give notice to them, that they must now drink the poison; but I know you to be at all times, and chiefly at this, a man both generous, and most mild and civil, and the best of all men that ever came into this place: so that I may be assured that you will not be displeased with me, but (you know the authors) with them rather. Now therefore (for you know what message I come to bring) farewell, and endeavour to suffer as patiently and calmly as you can, what cannot be avoided:" then breaking forth into tears, he departed. And Socrates converting his eyes upon him, "And farewell thou too," saith he "we will perform all things." Then turning to us again. "How civil this man is;" saith he,

"all this time of my imprisonment, he came to me willingly, and sometimes talked with me respectfully, and hath been the best of all that belong to the prison; and now how generously doth he weep for me! But Crito, let us spare him, and let some other bring hither the deadly draught, if it be already bruised, if not, let him bruise it." Then said Crito, "I think the sun shines upon the tops of the mountains, and is not yet quite gone down; and I have seen some delay the drinking of the poison much longer; nay more, after notice had been given them that they ought to dispatch they have supped, and drank largely too, and talked a good while with their friends; be not then so hasty; you have yet time enough." "Those men of whom you speak, Crito," saith he, "did well; for they thought they gained so much more of life; but I will not follow their example, for I conceive I shall gain nothing by deferring my draught till it be later in the night; unless it be to expose myself to be derided, for being desirous, out of too great love of life, to prolong the short remainder of it. But well, get the poison prepared quickly, and do nothing else till that be dispatch'd." Crito hearing this, beckon'd to a boy that was present; and the boy going forth, and employing himself a while in bruising the poison, returned with him who was to give it, and who brought it ready bruised in a cup; upon whom Socrates casting his eye, "Be it so, good man," said he; "tell me (for thou art well skill'd in these matters) what is to be done?" "Nothing," saith he, "but after you have drank, to walk, until a heaviness comes upon your legs and thighs, and then to sit; and this you shall do." And with that he held forth the cup to Socrates, which he readily receiving, and being perfectly sedate, "O Echecrates," without trembling, without change either in the colour or in the air of his face, but with the same aspect, and countenance intent and stern, (as was usual to him,) looking upon the man; "what saist thou," saith he, "may not a man offer some of this liquor in

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