Not till you give Your hand in promise of assistance to me. TELL. Can I assist you? Can a sinful man? Yet get ye up--how black soe'er your crime-- You are a man. I, too, am one. From Tell Shall no one part uncomforted. I will Do all that lies within my power. DUKE JOHN (_springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand_). Oh, Tell, You save me from the terrors of despair. TELL. Let go my hand! You must away. You cannot Remain here undiscover'd, and, discover'd, You cannot count on succor. Which way, then, Would you be going? Where do you hope to find A place of rest? DUKE JOHN. Alas! I know not where. TELL. Hear, then, what Heaven unto my heart suggests. You must to Italy--to Saint Peter's City-- There cast yourself at the Pope's feet--confess Your guilt to him, and ease your laden soul! JOHN. Will he not to the avengers yield me up? TELL. Whate'er he does, accept it as from God. JOHN. But how am I to reach that unknown land? I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not Attach myself to other travelers. TELL. I will describe the road, so mark me well! You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss, Which from the mountains dashes wildly down. DUKE JOHN (_in alarm_). What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed! TELL. The road you take lies through the river's gorge, And many a cross proclaims where travelers Have been by avalanches done to death. JOHN. I have no fear for nature's terrors, so I can appease the torments of my soul. TELL. At every cross, kneel down and expiate Your crime with burning penitential tears-- And if you 'scape the perils of the pass, And are not whelm'd beneath the drifted snows, That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, You'll reach the bridge that's drench'd with drizzling spray. Then if it give not way beneath your guilt, When you have left it safely in your rear, Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks, Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this, And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale. Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps, You must not linger in the haunts of peace. JOHN. O Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms! TELL. Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt's heights, Where are the tarns, the everlasting tarns, That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed, There to the German soil you bid farewell; And thence, with swift descent, another stream Leads you to Italy, your promised land. [_Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without_.] But I hear voices! Hence! HEDWIG (_hurrying in_). Where art thou, Tell? My father comes, and in exulting bands All the confederates approach. DUKE JOHN (_covering himself_). Woe's me! I dare not tarry 'mong these happy men! TELL. Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat. Spare not your bounty; for his road is long, And one where shelter will be hard to find. Quick--they approach! HEDWIG.