[Grasps the hands of WALTER FUeRST and STAUFFACHER.]

Hold fast together, then—­forever fast! 
Let freedom’s haunts be one in heart and mind! 
Set watches on your mountain tops, that league
May answer league, when comes the hour to strike. 
Be one—­be one—­be one—­

[He falls back upon the cushion.  His lifeless hands continue to grasp those of FUeRST and STAUFFACHER, who regard him for some moments in silence, and then retire, overcome with sorrow.  Meanwhile the servants have quietly pressed into the chamber, testifying different degrees of grief.  Some kneel down beside him and weep on his body:  while this scene is passing, the castle bell tolls.]

RUDENZ (entering hurriedly).

Lives he?  Oh say, can he still hear my voice?

[Illustration:  DEATH OF ATTINGHAUSEN From the Painting by Wilhelm von Kaulbach]

FUeRST (averting his face).

You are our seignior and protector now;
Henceforth this castle bears another name.

RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).

Oh, God!  Is my repentance, then, too late? 
Could he not live some few brief moments more,
To see the change that has come o’er my heart? 
Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice,
While yet he walked on earth.  Now he is gone—­
Gone, and for ever—­leaving me the debt—­
The heavy debt I owe him—­undischarged! 
Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?

STAUFF.

When dying, he was told what you had done,
And bless’d the valor that inspired your words!

RUDENZ (kneeling down beside the dead body).

Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved! 
Thou lifeless corpse!  Here, on thy death-cold hand,
Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever! 
And to my country’s cause devote myself. 
I am a Switzer, and will act as one,
With my whole heart and soul.

[Rises.]

Mourn for our friend,
Our common parent, yet be not dismay’d! 
’Tis not alone his lands that I inherit—­
His heart—­his spirit, have devolved on me;
And my young arm shall execute the task,
Which in his hoary age he could not pay. 
Give me your hands, ye venerable sires! 
Thine, Melchthal, too!  Nay, do not hesitate,
Nor from me turn distrustfully away. 
Accept my plighted vow—­my knightly oath!

FUeRST.

Give him your hands, my friends!  A heart like his,
That sees and owns its error, claims our trust.

MELCH.

You ever held the peasantry in scorn;
What surety have we, that you mean us fair?

RUDENZ.

Oh, think not of the error of my youth!

STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL).

Be one!  They were our father’s latest words. 
See they be not forgotten!

MELCHTHAL.

Take my hand—­
peasant’s hand—­and with it, noble sir,
The gage and the assurance of a man! 
Without us, sir, what would the nobles be? 
Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!