And even expelled he"d still be terrible.
"Tis hard, indeed "tis dangerous, to spare him.
BAUMGARTEN.
Place me where"er a life is to be lost; I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully Will pledge it for my country. I have cleared My honor, and my heart is now at rest.
REDING.
Counsel will come with circ.u.mstance. Be patient.
Something must still be trusted to the moment.
Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here, The morning, see, has on the mountain-tops Kindled her glowing beacon. Let us part, Ere the broad sun surprise us.
FURST.
Do not fear.
The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours.
[All have involuntarily taken off their caps, and contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in silence.
ROSSELMANN.
By this fair light, which greeteth us, before Those other nations, that, beneath us far, In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath, Swear we the oath of our confederacy!
We swear to be a nation of true brothers, Never to part in danger or in death!
[They repeat his words with three fingers raised.
We swear we will be free, as were our sires, And sooner die than live in slavery!
[All repeat as before.
We swear to put our trust in G.o.d Most High, And not to quail before the might of man!
[All repeat as before, and embrace each other.
STAUFFACHER.
Now every man pursue his several way Back to his friends his kindred, and his home.
Let the herd winter up his flock and gain In silence, friends, for our confederacy!
What for a time must be endured, endure.
And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow, Till the great day arrive, when they shall pay The general and particular debt at once.
Let every man control his own just rage, And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs; For he whom selfish interest now engage Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs.
[As they are going off in profound silence, in three different directions, the orchestra plays a solemn air. The empty scene remains open for some time, showing the rays of the sun rising over the glaciers.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Court before TELL"S house. TELL with an axe. HEDWIG engaged in her domestic duties. WALTER and WILHELM in the background playing with a little cross-bow.
WALTER (sings).
With his cross-bow and his quiver The huntsman speeds his way, Over mountain, dale, and river At the dawning of the day.
As the eagle, on wild pinion, Is the king in realms of air; So the hunter claims dominion Over crag and forest lair.
Far as ever bow can carry Through the trackless, airy s.p.a.ce, All he sees he makes his quarry, Soaring bird and beast of chase.
WILHELM (runs forward).
My string has snapped! Wilt mend it for me, father?
TELL.
Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.
[Boys retire.
HEDWIG.
The boys begin to use the bow betimes.
TELL.
"Tis early practice only makes the master.
HEDWIG.
Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art!
TELL.
But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points.
Whoe"er would carve an independent way Through life must learn to ward or plant a blow.
HEDWIG.
Alas, alas! and they will never rest Contentedly at home.
TELL.
No more can I!
I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.
Restless I must pursue a changing course; I only feel the flush and joy of life In starting some fresh quarry every day.
HEDWIG.
Heedless the while of all your wife"s alarms As she sits watching through long hours at home.
For my soul sinks with terror at the tales The servants tell about your wild adventures.
Whene"er we part my trembling heart forebodes That you will ne"er come back to me again.
I see you on the frozen mountain steeps, Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff; I see the chamois, with a wild rebound, Drag you down with him o"er the precipice.
I see the avalanche close o"er your head, The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down Entombed alive within its hideous gulf.
Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course.
That way of life can surely ne"er be blessed, Where life and limb are perilled every hour.
TELL.
The man that bears a quick and steady eye, And trusts to G.o.d and his own l.u.s.ty sinews, Pa.s.ses, with scarce a scar, through every danger.
The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.
[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools.