By Mary Roberts Rinehart

A vintage novel of romantic fiction and political research.

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On the lake’s left bank, As we sail hence to Brunnen, right against The Mytenstein, deep-hidden in the wood A meadow lies, by shepherds called the Rootli, STAUFF. So let it be. And now your true right hand! Yours, too, young man! and as we now three men Among ourselves thus knit our hands together In all sincerity and truth, e’en so Shall we three cantons, too, together stand MELCH. But how shall we communicate, and not Awaken the suspicion of the tyrants? 35 Wilhelm Tell In victory and defeat, in life and death.

And let me tell you, in the Diet’s name, Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace. Stand we not all for the same common cause? REDING. Peace, on your oath! SACRIS. If Schwytz be leagued with Uri, Why, then, indeed, we must perforce be dumb. 58 Schiller WINK. What, if till Christmas we delay? ’Tis then The custom for the serfs to throng the castle, Bringing the Governor their annual gifts. Thus may some ten or twelve selected men Assemble unobserved, within its walls. Bearing about their persons pikes of steel, Which may be quickly mounted upon staves, For arms are not admitted to the fort.

46 Great Heaven! Yet wept I not! Schiller No—not in weak and unavailing tears Spent I the force of my fierce burning anguish; Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure, I lock’d it fast, and thought on deeds alone. Through every winding of the hills I crept,— No valley so remote but I explored it; Nay, at the very glacier’s ice-clad base, I sought and found the homes of living men; And still, where’er my wandering footsteps turn’d, For from behind their adamantine walls The foe, like eagle from his eyrie, swoops, And, safe himself, spreads havoc o’er the land.

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