remedy;
I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs,
This braggart spirit of freedom I will crush,
I will proclaim a new law through the land;
I will--

[_An arrow pierces him--he puts his hand on his heart, and
is about to sink--with a feeble voice_.]

Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

HARRAs.

My lord! my lord! Oh God! What's this? Whence came it?

ARMGART (_starts up_).

Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart!

HARRAS (_springs from his horse_).

Horror of horrors! Heavenly powers! Sir knight,
Address yourself for mercy to your God!
You are a dying man.

GESSLER.

That shot was Tell's.

[_He slides from his horse into the arms of_ RUDOLPH DER
HARRAS, _who lays him down upon the beach_. TELL _appears
above upon the rocks_.]

TELL.

Thou know'st the marksman--I, and I alone.
Now are our homesteads free, and innocence
From thee is safe: thou'lt be our curse no more.

[TELL _disappears. People rush in_.]

STUSSI.

What is the matter? Tell me what has happen'd?

ARMGART.

The Viceroy's shot--pierced by a cross-bow bolt!

PEOPLE (_running in_).

Who has been shot?

[_While the foremost of the marriage party are coming on the
stage, the hindmost are still upon the heights. The music
continues_.]

HARRAS.

He's bleeding fast to death.
Away, for help--pursue the murderer!
Unhappy man, is this to be your end?
You would not listen to my warning words.

STUSSI.

By Heaven, his cheek is pale! Life's ebbing fast.

MANY VOICES.

Who did the deed?

HARRAS.

What! Are the people mad,
That they make music to a murder? Silence!

[_Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to flock in_.]

Speak, if you can, my lord. Have you no charge
To trust me with?

[GESSLER _makes signs with his hand, which he repeats with
vehemence, when he finds they are not understood_.]

Where shall I take you to?
To Kuessnacht? What you say I can't make out.
Oh, do not grow impatient! Leave all thought
Of earthly things and make your peace with Heaven.

[_The whole marriage party gather round the dying man_.]

STUSSI.

See there! how pale he grows! Death's gathering now
About his heart--his eyes grow dim and glazed.

ARMGART (_holds up a child_).

Look, children, how a tyrant dies!

HARRAS.

Mad hag!
Have you no touch of feeling, that your eyes
Gloat on a sight so horrible as this?
Help me--take hold. What, will not one assist
To