tell to after years
Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood. [25]
The peasant throws himself with naked breast,
A willing victim on their serried lances.
They yield--the flower of chivalry's cut down,
And freedom waves her conquering banner high!

[Grasps the hands Of WALTER FURST and STAUFFACHER.

Hold fast together, then--forever fast!
Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind!
Set watches on your mountain-tops, that league
May answer league, when comes the hour to strike.
Be one--be one--be one----

[He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless hands continue
to grasp those of FURST and STAUFFACHER, who regard him for
some moments in silence, and then retire, overcome with sorrow.
Meanwhile the servants have quietly pressed into the chamber,
testifying different degrees of grief. Some kneel down beside
him and weep on his body: while this scene is passing the castle
bell tolls.

RUDENZ (entering hurriedly).
Lives he? Oh, say, can he still hear my voice?

FURST (averting his face).
You are our seignior and protector now;
Henceforth this castle bears another name.

RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).
Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?
Could he not live some few brief moments more,
To see the change that has come o'er my heart?
Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice
While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone;
Gone and forever,--leaving me the debt,--
The heavy debt I owe him--undischarged!
Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?

STAUFFACHER.
When dying he was told what you had done,
And blessed the valor that inspired your words!

RUDENZ (kneeling downs beside the dead body).
Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!
Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand,
Do I abjure all foreign ties forever!
And to my country's cause devote myself.
I am a Switzer, and will act as one
With my whole heart and soul.
[Rises.
Mourn for our friend,
Our common parent, yet be not dismayed!
'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit,--
His heart--his spirit have devolved on me;
And my young arm shall execute the task
For which his hoary age remained your debtor.
Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers!
Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,
Nor from me turn distrustfully away.
Accept my plighted vow--my knightly oath!

FURST.
Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his
That sees and owns its error claims our trust.