308, SELECT POETRY

Hard by a spreading lime-tree stoud,
To this the youth was bound ;

They placed an apple on his head ; —
He looked in wonder round.

“The fault is mine, if fault there be,”
Cried TE.1 in accents wild ;

“ On manhood let your vengeance fall,
But spare, oh spare my child !”

« T will not harm the pretty boy,”
Said Gesler tauntingly ;

“If blood of his shall stain the ground,
Yours will the murder be.

“ Draw tight your bow, my cunning man
Your straightest arrow take ;
For, know, yon apple is your mark,
Your liberty the stake.”

A mingled noise of wrath and grief
Was heard among the crowd ;

The men, they muttered curses deep,
The women wept aloud.

Full fifty paces from his child,
His cross-bow in his hand,

With lip compressed, and flashing eye,
Tex1 firmly took his stand.

Sure, full enough of pain and woe
This crowded earth has been ;

But never, since the curse began,
So sad a sight was seen.