The Evening Before the Battle. Why are those watchfires gleaming bright, Morgarten, on thy beacon height ? And why are lights ’mid the evening gloom, Flitting like spirits from tomb to tomb ? Why through the calm of each Alpine dell Do the warlike notes of the trumpet swell ? And why is the scared flocks’ mournful bleat Drown ’d in the trample of hurrying feet ? Why doth the war-whoop, wild and shrill, Re-echo from the snow-clad hill, And the sentry pace his lonely round, O’er thine ancient hallow’d battle-ground ? The morn shall tell. That morning came, Usher’d by smoke-wreath and by flame !