Till the Alps replied to that voice of war
With a thousand of their own.
And through the forest-glooms
Flash’d helmets to the day;
And the winds were tossing knightly plumes,
Like the larch-boughs in their play.
In Hasli’s[266] wilds there was gleaming steel
As the host of the Austrian pass’d;
And the Schreckhorn’s[267] rocks, with a savage peal,
Made mirth of his clarion’s blast.