Court before TELL'S house. TELL with an axe. HEDWIG engaged
in her domestic duties. WALTER and WILHELM in the background
playing with a little cross-bow.

WALTER (sings).

With his cross-bow and his quiver
The huntsman speeds his way,
Over mountain, dale, and river
At the dawning of the day.

As the eagle, on wild pinion,
Is the king in realms of air;
So the hunter claims dominion
Over crag and forest lair.

Far as ever bow can carry
Through the trackless, airy space,
All he sees he makes his quarry,
Soaring bird and beast of chase.

WILHELM (runs forward).
My string has snapped! Wilt mend it for me, father?

TELL.
Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.

[Boys retire.

HEDWIG.
The boys begin to use the bow betimes.

TELL.
'Tis early practice only makes the master.

HEDWIG.
Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art!

TELL.
But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points.
Whoe'er would carve an independent way
Through life must learn to ward or plant a blow.

HEDWIG.
Alas, alas! and they will never rest
Contentedly at home.

TELL.
No more can I!
I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.
Restless I must pursue a changing course;
I only feel the flush and joy of life
In starting some fresh quarry every day.

HEDWIG.
Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms
As she sits watching through long hours at home.
For my soul sinks with terror at the tales
The servants tell about your wild adventures.
Whene'er we part my trembling heart forebodes
That you will ne'er come back to me again.
I see you on the frozen mountain steeps,
Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff;
I see the chamois, with a wild rebound,
Drag you down with him o'er the precipice.
I see the avalanche close o'er your head,
The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down
Entombed alive within its hideous gulf.
Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death
Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course.
That way of life can surely ne'er be blessed,
Where life and limb are perilled every hour.

TELL.
The man that bears a quick and steady eye,
And trusts to God and his own lusty sinews,
Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger.
The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.

[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools.

And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile.
The axe at home oft saves the carpenter.

HEDWIG.
Whither away!

[Takes his cap.

TELL.
To Altdorf, to your father.

HEDWIG.
You have some dangerous enterprise in view? Confess!

TELL.
Why think you so?

HEDWIG.
Some scheme's on foot,
Against the governors. There was a Diet
Held on the Rootli—that I know—and you
Are one of the confederacy I'm sure.

TELL.
I was not there. Yet will I not hold back
Whene'er my country calls me to her aid.

HEDWIG.
Wherever danger is, will you be placed.
On you, as ever, will the burden fall.

TELL.
Each man shall have the post that fits his powers.

HEDWIG.
You took—ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm—
The man of Unterwald across the lake.
'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought
Of wife and children then?

TELL.
Dear wife, I had;
And therefore saved the father for his children.

HEDWIG.
To brave the lake in all its wrath; 'Twas not
To put your trust in God! 'Twas tempting him.

TELL.
The man that's over-cautious will do little.

HEDWIG.
Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all;
But be in straits and who will lend you aid?

TELL.
God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it!

[Takes up his crossbow and arrows.

HEDWIG.
Why take your crossbow with you? Leave it here.

TELL.
I want my right hand when I want my bow.

[The boys return.

WALTER.
Where, father, are you going?

TELL.
To grand-dad, boy—
To Altdorf. Will you go?

WALTER.
Ay, that I will!

HEDWIG.
The viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf.

TELL.
He leaves to-day.

HEDWIG.
Then let him first be gone,
Cross not his path. You know he bears us grudge.

TELL.
His ill-will cannot greatly injure me.
I do what's right, and care for no man's hate.

HEDWIG.
'Tis those who do what's right whom he most hates.

TELL.
Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween,
His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.

HEDWIG.
Ay! Are you sure of that?

TELL.
Not long ago,
As I was hunting through the wild ravines
Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot,—
There, as I took my solitary way
Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas
Impossible to step on either side;
For high above rose, like a giant wall,
The precipice's side, and far below
The Shechen thundered o'er its rifted bed;—

[The boys press towards him, looking upon him
with excited curiosity.

There, face to face, I met the viceroy. He
Alone with me—and I myself alone—
Mere man to man, and near us the abyss.
And when his lordship had perused my face,
And knew the man he had severely fined
On some most trivial ground not long before;
And saw me, with my sturdy bow in hand,
Come striding towards him, then his cheek grew pale,
His knees refused their office, and I thought
He would have sunk against the mountain side.
Then, touched with pity for him, I advanced,
Respectfully, and said, "'Tis I, my lord."
But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips
To frame an answer. Only with his hand
He beckoned me in silence to proceed.
So I passed on, and sent his train to seek him.

HEDWIG.
He trembled then before you? Woe the while
You saw his weakness; that he'll not forgive.

TELL.
I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me.

HEDWIG.
But stay away to day. Go hunting rather!

TELL.
What do you fear?

HEDWIG.
I am uneasy. Stay.

TELL.
Why thus distress yourself without a cause?

HEDWIG.
Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell! stay here!

TELL.
Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.

HEDWIG.
Must you,—then go. But leave the boys with me.

WALTER.
No, mother dear, I'm going with my father.

HEDWIG.
How, Walter! Will you leave your mother then?

WALTER.
I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa.

[Exit with his father.

WILHELM.
Mother, I'll stay with you!

HEDWIG (embracing him).
Yes, yes! thou art
My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me.

[She goes to the gate of the court, and looks anxiously
after TELL and her son for a considerable time.