There plays the skill will thin the chamois herd,
And bring the lammergeyer from the cloud
To earth; perhaps do greater feats,—perhaps
Make man its quarry, when he dares to tread
Upon his fellow-man. That little arm
May pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat,
And from their chains a prostrate people lift
To liberty. I'd be content to die,
Living to see that day. What, Albert!"
The lad, with a glad cry of "Ah, my father!" flies into his embrace, while in unison, from pit to gallery, a thousand hearts throb warmly.