She will not fly, she can not yield--
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast;
But every freeman was a host,
And felt as though himself were he
On whose sole arm hung victory!

44. It did depend on one, indeed,
Behold him--Arnold Winkelried
There sounds not to the tramp of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the coming storm;
And by the uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

45. But 'twas no sooner thought and done,
The field was in a moment won.

46. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried;
Then ran with arms extended wide
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for Liberty!" he cried:
Their keen points met from side to side;