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"Thrice happy you! for fancy's shadowy power,
Unfailing friend of sorrow's darkest hour,
O'er your dim state a transient gleam can throw,
Like twilight glimmering on a waste of snow!
"But me, condemn'd alone to wake and weep,
My country's doubtful ills forbid to sleep:
Each night the agonizing theme renews,
And bathes my cheek in sorrow's bitterest dews.
Where art thou, Stenon? whose resistless hand
Stretch'd like a shield o'er this deserted land!
Say, does that hand still turn a nation's doom,
Or sleeps its valour in the silent tomb?
Heroes and chieftains! whither are ye fled,
Whose powerful arm collected Sweden led?
I saw you glorious, from the field of fight,
When Denmark shrunk before your stormy might:
And now, perhaps, your buried ashes sleep,
And o'er your honour'd tombs your country's sorrows weep.
Illustrious senators! whose wisdom view'd
Th' approaching storm, and oft its strength subdued:
And thou, young Vasa! once renown'd in war,
Thy country's hope, and freedom's northern star:
Too true, alas! I fear, a tyrant's hand
Has swept your glories from the darken'd land.
Why else these walls resign'd to Christiern's powers,
And I a captive in these mournful towers?
Stockholm once lost, can Sweden yet remain,
Or freedom linger in her desert plain?
Yet, unextinguish'd by the conquering foe,
Some spark in distant provinces may glow;
(As the swift lightning, weary of its course,
On some low distant cloud collects its scatter'd force)
Prepared ere long to burst in tenfold wrath,
And dart destruction on the hostile path.
"Thou too, Ernestus! what protecting doom
Has guided thee thro' fate's tremendous gloom?
Unhappy relic of a patriot line,
Dost thou with all their ancient glory shine,
And, unappall'd by labour or by fear,
Lift for thy country the protecting spear?
Or, wrapt in fetters, and in darkness lost,
Say, dost thou languish for thy native coast?
Perhaps, unnoted, by the tyrant's eyes,
In unknown solitude secure he lies—
Whate'er his fate, nor terror's base control,
Nor hostile bribes, can e'er have moved his soul,
No! taught by me, Ernestus nobly spurns
Each vulgar aim, and for his country burns.
"Why art thou sad, my soul? the eye divine
Still looks on all; to grieve is to repine!
And tho' destruction cover all the shore,
Tho' heroes, kings, and statesmen be no more,
Tho' Stenon, vainly mild, and vainly brave,
Fill the dark bosom of the dreary grave,
Tho' Sweden's sons no earthly hope retain,
Tho' not one spark of ancient fire remain,
Tho' hostile banners crowd her blazing sky,
And stretch'd in dust her smoking castles lie:
Yet, Lord of all! from ruin's blackening ware,
Thy arm is till omnipotent to save:
Thy arm can stop the whirlwind's rushing breath,
And light with hope the funeral shades of death!
"The gloom dissolves! and Sweden's glories old
With added lustre to my sight unfold;
He comes! the doom'd deliverer, from afar,
Gathers his rushing thousands to the war!
His generous might uniting factions greet,
And crush'd oppression groans beneath his feet:
From each bright year successive glories spring,
And shouting millions hail a patriot king!
"For me—these joys assured, in calm repose,
With trembling hope, I wait my end of woes.
Long vers'd in sufferings, I no more complain,
Nor shall one tear my former patience stain.
Long, long, has time, slow rolling, swept away
The dear companions of my earlier day;
So long, that memory scarce their names retains,
And blank oblivion o'er my bosom reigns.
Ernestus, now, alone sustains their part,
(Loved more than all) within this widow'd heart:
And thou, my God, wilt hear my prayers, and spread
A guardian veil o'er youthful virtue's head.
Thy hand supreme, an ever watchful guide,
Has steer'd me safe o'er life's uncertain tide;
Has led me on thro' danger's various forms,
Thro' faithless sunshine, and thro' whelming storms:
Thy kind indulgence now unfolds the page
Of future time to my desponding age.
On thee I call, with grateful joy oppress'd,
To speed my passage to eternal rest!
I am alone on earth—at heaven's bright gate,
Perhaps my friends their kindred spirit wait;
E'n now they wait, to bid my labours cease,
And point my journey to the realms of peace.
As the swift eagle seeks the fields of light,
When rolling clouds invest his mountain height,
My soul, on fiery pinion, upward flies,
And swell'd with grateful hope anticipates the skies."
Nor less Ernestus, from his friend apart,
In lengthen'd thought explored his secret heart.
Far from the rest, in fetters wrapt he lay,
Where the wan moonlight threw a slanting ray
Thro' the dim grate; his rapture beaming eyes
On this he fixes, and in transport cries—
"Oh, sacred lamp! since last on thee I gazed,
What joy unthought this drooping soul has raised!
In deep amaze I view my alter'd state,
And scarce believe the wonders of my fate.
My heart, so late the slave of vice and fear,
Now smiles at death, and thinks no fate severe.
Drop, infamy from thy neglecting hand
My name; deny it a perennial brand;
And cast a friendly veil on the disgrace
A deed like mine entails on human race.
What said I? No.—Pour all thy floods of shame
Thro' future ages on Ernestus' name;
Say, that with cool untrembling hand he spilt
His master's blood, and gloried in his guilt:
So shall the sons of earth in other times,
Know my disgrace, and tremble at my crimes.
Oh Stenon! could my ceaseless tears restore
Thee, patriot chief to Sweden's widow'd shore!
How would I joy, amidst thy martial train,
To mow the adverse ranks, and sweep along the plain,
Tread in thy daring steps with equal fire,
Or at thy feet triumphantly expire!
But vain the wish—let hope's unfading ray
Lead my firm steps in duty's arduous way;
Pain, shame, and death, at heaven's all righteous call
I meet, and in its strength shall conquer all."
So mused the captives; while, in lordly state,
Smiling amidst his peers the monarch sate.
O'er the vast roof, with gilded rafters gay,
Unnumber'd lamps effused a mingled ray:
The dancing glory fill'd the spacious hall,
Play'd on the roof, and cheer'd the pictured wall,
With glancing beams the golden goblets shine,
The red light trembles on the sparkling wine.
Here sat the chiefs, in stormy war renown'd,
Or with the senate's peaceful honours crown'd
On various themes their mingled converse ran,
'Till Trollio to the monarch thus began.