Wilhelm Tell [34]
When we have set the country free, we'll place Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier. Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone!-- I with the tyrants have a cause to fight, That more concerns myself. My Bertha's gone, Has disappear'd,--- been carried off by stealth,-- Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands! STAUFF. So fell an outrage has the tyrant dared Against a lady free and nobly born! RUD. Alas! my friends, I promised help to you, And I must first implore it for myself! She that I love, is stolen--is forced away, And who knows where she's by the tyrant hid, Or with what outrages his ruffian crew May force her into nuptials she detests? Forsake me not!--Oh, help me to her rescue! She loves you! Well, oh, well, has she deserved, That all should rush to arms in her behalf! STAUFF. What course do you propose? RUD. Alas! I know not. In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate,-- In the dread agony of this suspense,-- Where I can grasp at nought of certainty,-- One single ray of comfort beams upon me. From out the ruins of the tyrant's power Alone can she be rescued from the grave. Their strongholds must be levell'd, every one, Ere we can penetrate her dungeon walls. MELCH. Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer Until to-morrow, what to-day may do? Tell's arm was free when we at Rootli swore. This foul enormity was yet undone. And change of circumstance brings change of vow; Who such a coward as to waver still? RUD. (to Walter Furst). Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness. The fiery signal on the mountain tops! For swifter than a boat can scour the lake Shall you have tidings of our victory; And when you see the welcome flames ascend Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe, And lay the despots and their creatures low!
SCENE III. The pass near Kussnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all round the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.
TELL. (enters with his crossbow). Through this ravine he needs must come. There is No other way to Kussnacht. Here I'll do it! The ground is everything I could desire. Yon elder bush will hide me from his view, And from that point my shaft is sure to hit. The straitness of the gorge forbids pursuit. Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven! Thou must away from earth,--thy sand is run. Quiet and harmless was the life I led, My bow was bent on forest game alone; No thoughts of murder rested on my soul. But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace; The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd To rankling poison in my breast; and made Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. He who could make his own child's head his mark, Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife, Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage! When last I drew my bow--with trembling hand-- And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee Forced me to level at my own boy's head, When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee, Then in the anguish of my soul, I vow'd A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, That when my bow next wing'd an arrow's flight, Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made, Amid the hellish torments of that moment, I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate; Yet would the Emperor not have stretch'd his power, So far as thou hast done. He sent thee here To deal forth law--stern law--for he is wroth; But not to wanton with unbridled will In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy:-- There lives a God to punish and avenge. Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, My precious jewel now,--my chiefest treasure-- A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief Could never penetrate,--but thou shalt pierce it,-- And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft For sport has served me faithfully and well, Desert me not in this dread hour of need,-- Only be true this once, my own good cord, That hast so often wing'd the biting shaft:-- For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, I
SCENE III. The pass near Kussnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all round the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.
TELL. (enters with his crossbow). Through this ravine he needs must come. There is No other way to Kussnacht. Here I'll do it! The ground is everything I could desire. Yon elder bush will hide me from his view, And from that point my shaft is sure to hit. The straitness of the gorge forbids pursuit. Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven! Thou must away from earth,--thy sand is run. Quiet and harmless was the life I led, My bow was bent on forest game alone; No thoughts of murder rested on my soul. But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace; The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd To rankling poison in my breast; and made Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. He who could make his own child's head his mark, Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife, Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage! When last I drew my bow--with trembling hand-- And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee Forced me to level at my own boy's head, When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee, Then in the anguish of my soul, I vow'd A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, That when my bow next wing'd an arrow's flight, Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made, Amid the hellish torments of that moment, I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate; Yet would the Emperor not have stretch'd his power, So far as thou hast done. He sent thee here To deal forth law--stern law--for he is wroth; But not to wanton with unbridled will In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy:-- There lives a God to punish and avenge. Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, My precious jewel now,--my chiefest treasure-- A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief Could never penetrate,--but thou shalt pierce it,-- And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft For sport has served me faithfully and well, Desert me not in this dread hour of need,-- Only be true this once, my own good cord, That hast so often wing'd the biting shaft:-- For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, I