[The Argument to the Fourth Book, of which this is only the commencement, will be found in the Notes.]
Observant of the deepening maze of fate,
High on his throne of stars the Eternal sate:
Whence his broad eyes the changeful earth survey'd,
The rolling seas, the sun, the infernal shade,
And all his worlds. In one collected beam
Heaven's various rays around his temples gleam,
Yet veil with dusky cloud the lustre pure,
Whose fulness no archangel can endure.
In bright obscurity he sits sublime,
And tranquil looks thro' all the stream of time.
Around the throne a blue expanse of light
Extended past the reach of angel sight;
There heaven's superior spirits made abode,
Foremost in power, and nearest to their God.
Amidst the azure sea like stars they shone,
And circled in an hundred orbs the throne.
Those who o'er states preside, and those whose hand
Sheds war, or peace, or famine o'er a land;
Who guide the uncertain tempest in the pole,
Watch the red comet, and the stars control.
Thro' the bless'd orders, as in ranks they rise,
The Power on Earth's bright guardians turn'd his eyes.
The attendant Spirit knew the mystic sign,
For ever seated near the throne divine:
He saw his sovereign's will by looks express'd,
And Suecia's guardian angel thus address'd:
"Haste, faithful Spirit! to the nether skies,
Where Dalecarlia's misty mountains rise:
A Danish fort on the rude frontier stands,
Pregnant with war, and all the land commands:
With specious safety lull the band to rest,
Unstring each nerve, and weaken every breast.
The peasant-tribes with new-born strength inspire,
Bid ev'n the fearful glow with martial fire,
With sudden hope their cold despondence quell,
And patriot grief with patriot ire dispel.
Thence bend thy way to Denmark's stormy coast,
Where princely Frederic heads his secret host.
Let fears and jealousies each town alarm,
And Denmark's boldest tribes for Frederic arm.
That done, on Eric's hero-son attend,
Each motion guide, and each design befriend;
And to his sight in broader view unfold
The bright events to young Ernestus told.
Such be thy task: the rest in silence wait,
'Till changeful time shall work the will of fate."
Before the throne th' obedient Seraph bows,
And veils the star that glitters on his brows;
Then thro' the blue abyss impetuous flies
Where starr'd with suns heaven's ample pathway lies,
Its radiant limit: thro' that path he springs,
And shoots smooth-gliding on refulgent wings.
Far in the void of heaven a secret way
Leads from the mansions of empyreal day,
That wanders devious from the road of light,
And deepens gradual into central night:
By this dim path he sought the dark profound
Of utmost hell, Creation's flaming bound,
Saw the far-distant gleam, and heard the roar
Of dashing surges on the burning shore.
With hasty steps he trod the deep descent,
Thro' the gross air, that brighten'd as he went,
And call'd a spirit from the gulphs below,
Heaven's scourge, and minister of human woe.
The summon'd fiend forsook the fiery wave,
And Sweden's Genius thus his mandate gave:
"To Dalecarlia's tented fields repair,
And seek the Danish host assembled there.
With seeming safety and false hopes destroy
Their watchful care, and melt them down to joy;
And, while they sleep in the delusive charm,
Unstring each nerve, and weaken every arm;
So shall their fears, not Vasa, strike the blow,
And ready Conquest meet the coming foe."
He spoke. Incumbent on the boundless night,
To upper air they wing their echoing flight:
Thence swift to earth their airy voyage bend,
Where the cold North's unmeasured tracts extend:
O'er pine-clad Norway's wilderness of snow,
O'er the huge Dofrine's cloudy tops they go,
Thro' many a fertile province urge their flight;
And on Dal-Elbe's uncultured plains alight.
Thro' the majestic forest's leafy pride
The murmurs of the recent tempest sigh'd,
The shades of eve were closed, and pattering showers
Shed added gloom o'er midnight's starless hours.
Sleep in his downy car o'er Mora rode,
And soft-winged Silence ruled the calm abode.
Lull'd by the distant gale's unequal sound,
The peasants press their beds, with rushes crown'd,
From daily toil and fear a respite steal,
And dream of joys the waking may not feel.