From Mulda to the Baltic Ocean.
But death hath spann'd thee: nor must we divine
What heir thou leav'st to finish thy design,
Or who shall thee succeed, as champion
For liberty and for religion.
Thy task is done; as in a watch, the spring,
120Wound to the height, relaxes with the string:
So thy steel nerves of conquest, from their steep
Ascent declin'd, lie slack'd in thy last sleep.
Rest then, triumphant soul! for ever rest!