When freedom from her home was driven, 'Mid vine-clad vales of Switzerland, She sought the glorious Alps of heaven, And there, 'mid cliffs by lightnings riven, Gathered her hero-band.
And still outrings her freedom-song, Amid the glaciers sparkling there, At Sabbath bell, as peasants throng Their mountain fastnesses along, Happy, and free as air.
The hills were made for freedom; they Break at a breath the tyrant's rod; Chains clank in valleys; there the prey Writhes 'neath Oppression's heel alway: Hills bow to none but God!
Once Switzerland was free! With what a pride I used to walk these hills,--look up to heaven, And bless God that it was so! It was free From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free! Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks, And plough our valleys, without asking leave; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun! How happy was I in it then! I loved Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring,--I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think--I had no master save his own!
"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: Marshalled 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 virtues 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 his awakening footstep trod.