WALT. (pointing to the Bannberg).
Father, is't true, that on the mountain there
The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed?
TELL.
Who says so, boy?
WALT.
The master herdsman, father!
He tells us there's a charm upon the trees,
And if a man shall injure them, the hand
That struck the blow will grow from out the grave.
TELL.
There is a charm about them—that's the truth.
Dost see those glaciers yonder—those white horns—
That seem to melt away into the sky?
WALT.
They are the peaks that thunder so at night,
And send the avalanches down upon us.
TELL.
They are; and Altdorf long ago had been
Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight,
Did not the forest there above the town
Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.
WALT. (after musing a little).
And are there countries with no mountains, father?
TELL.
Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights,
And keep descending where the rivers go,
We reach a wide and level country, where
Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more,
And fair large rivers glide serenely on.
All quarters of the heaven may there be scann'd
Without impediment. The corn grows there
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land
Is like a garden fair to look upon.
WALT.
But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not
Away to this delightful land, instead
Of toiling here, and struggling as we do?
TELL.
The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven;
But they who till it never may enjoy
The fruits of what they sow.