in her fulness of heart.

"Stay--stay with us!--rest!--thou art weary and worn!"--
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;--
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY!

_By_ JAMES MONTGOMERY

NOTE.--In the fourteenth century the Swiss people rose against
their Austrian oppressors, and at Sempach they won, on July 9,
1386, a complete victory over an army which greatly exceeded them
in numbers. According to tradition, a Swiss hero, Arnold
Winkelried, seeing that the Austrian line was well-nigh
unbreakable, gathered the spears of several of his enemies in his
arms and pressed the points against his breast, thus making a way
for his companions. A monument was erected in his honor five
centuries after the battle.

"Make way for Liberty!"--he cried;
Made way for Liberty, and died!

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood.
A living wall, a human wood!
A wall, where every conscious stone
Seemed to its kindred thousands grown;
A rampart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames should wear;
A wood, like that enchanted grove
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possessed
A spirit prisoned in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Would startle into hideous life;
So dense, so still, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood!
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears,
Whose polished points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendors run
Along the billows to the sun.

Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their native land:
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the ignoble yoke,
And forged their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords,
And what insurgent rage had gained
In many a mortal fray maintained;
Marshaled once more at Freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquered, he who fell,
Was deemed a dead or living Tell!
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which