Into the bright mid air, had caught from day
A flush of fire, when those true Switzers parted,
Each to his glen or forest, steadfast-hearted,
And full of hope. Not many suns had worn
Their setting glory, ere from slumber started
Ten thousand voices, of the mountains born—
So far was heard the blast of freedom’s echoing horn!
XXVI.
The ice-vaults trembled, when that peal came rending
The frozen stillness which around them hung;