A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. IRT round with rugged mountains In her blue heart reflected, Shine back the starry skies; And watching each white cloudlet You think a piece of Heaven Midnight is there and silence Enthroned in Heaven, looks down Upon her own calm mirror, Upon a sleeping town: For Bregenz, that quaint city Upon the Tyrol shore, Has stood above Lake Constance, A thousand years and more. Her battlements and towers, Upon their rocky steep, Have cast their trembling shadow Mountain, and lake, and valley, Of how the town was saved, one night, Far from her home and kindred, And every year that fleeted So silently and fast, Seemed to bear farther from her She served kind, gentle masters, Her friends seemed no more new ones, Their speech seemed no more strange; And when she led her cattle To pasture every day, She ceased to look and wonder She spoke no more of Bregenz, Of Austrian war and strife; Yet, when her master's children Would clustering round her stand, She sang them ancient ballads Of her own native land; And when at morn and evening She knelt before God's throne, The accents of her childhood Rose to her lips alone. And so she dwelt: the valley More peaceful year by year; When suddenly strange portents, Of some great deed seemed near. The golden corn was bending Upon its fragile stalk, While farmers, heedless of their fields, The men seemed stern and altered, The women gathered round; All talk of flax, or spinning, The very children seemed afraid To go alone to play. One day, out in the meadow With strangers from the town, Some secret plan discussing, The men walked up and down. Yet, now and then seemed watching, A strange uncertain gleam, That looked like lances 'mid the trees, That stood below the stream. At eve they all assembled, Then care and doubt were fled; With jovial laugh they feasted, The board was nobly spread. The elder of the village Rose up, his glass in hand, And cried, "We drink the downfal "Of an accursed land! "The night is growing darker, "Ere one more day is flown, "Bregenz, our foemen's stronghold, 66 'Bregenz shall be our own!" The women shrank in terror, (Yet Pride, too, had her part,) But one poor Tyrol maiden Felt death within her heart. Before her, stood fair Bregenz, Once more her towers arose; What were the friends beside her? Only her country's foes! The faces of her kinsfolk, The days of childhood flown, |