"God of my sires! if studious to fulfill
In every point thy uncontested will,
I long have struggled, careless to escape,
With ills of every size, of every shape;
If still from Superstition's darkness free,
My heart has breathed a purer prayer to thee,
While erring millions with vain worship stained
Thy holy altars, and thy praise profaned;
If now, obeying thy implied command,
I quit at length this long-disputed land:
Assist me still!—and grant my native shore
One hour of rest, one tranquil season more!
Enough her ancient crimes have teem'd with woes;
Let her long griefs be paid with short repose:
Or, if I seek that kind reprieve in vain,
Let future years, at least, dissolve her chain!
Protect my honoured mother: and assuage
The woes that wreck my sister's youthful age:—
If yet on earth the beauteous flow'ret bloom,
Or wither'd moulder in the silent tomb,
I must not know—Enough—thy gracious will
Divides, with equal measure, good and ill!—
To them, if aught I merit, be it given;
And grant them peace on earth, or bliss in heaven.
I will not name them more—the mournful name
Would damp with grief my soul's reviving flame.
To safe retreats my fellow-patriots lead,
Reward their labours, and their vows succeed;
Nor let one soul repine he ever fought
For virtuous praise, or deem it dearly bought!"
Scarce had he finish'd, when o'er rock and dell
A sudden stream of yellow splendour fell,
As if a star, with sunlike lustre crown'd,
Dropp'd instantaneous thro' the blue profound.
His heaving breast the joyful omen cheer'd,
And now thro' parting clouds the moon appear'd.
Beneath her glimmering light the chief survey'd
A stranger-youth advancing thro' the shade.
His stately air, his gold-embroider'd vest,
And towering step superior birth confess'd;
But time, and mental storms, had changed a mien
By godlike Vasa once with pleasure seen:
Tho' recent hope and transport half effaced
The lines, which sorrow had so lately traced.
Unaw'd by fear the courteous hero stood,
And near the shady confines of the wood
Now met the youth. "Whoe'er thou art," he cried,
"Beneath our roof the tranquil morn abide:
For see, the red stars rise, and all around
The dew falls heavy on the silent ground."
"Hear, gallant guardian of an injured state!"
(Replied the certain messenger of fate)
"For well I know thee, once in battle seen:
No length of years can change a hero's mien,
Unalter'd as his soul; since in his lines
The stamp of Heaven's own hand distinguish'd shines."—
On him, in speechless wonder, Vasa gazed:
New feelings, by uncertain memory raised,
Rose indistinct: now rage, he knew not why,
Fired all his spirit; now the half-felt sigh
Of ancient friendship in his breast renew'd,
Urged its slow course, whilst thus the youth pursu'd:
"Ask not my name—lest rising wrath prevent
My hurried speech, and hinder Heaven's intent.—
Confined by Christiern's doom, I saw, with dread,
The axe hang glaring o'er my fated head:
Escaped, thro' nightly seas I held my way,
'Till starry midnight verged on purple day;
When instant at my prow a form appear'd,
Array'd in splendours, and the darkness cheer'd.
Genius of Sweden (such his sacred name)
From heaven's high arch the lucid herald came.
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