Gustavus Vasa / and other poems

by William Sidney Walker

⎧

⎨

⎩

While thus he spoke, the tyrant's mien express'd
The troubled sea that roll'd within his breast.
By hopes, and doubts, and fears, his mind was torn,
From thought to thought irregularly borne.
Thus the swift traveller, whose successful haste
Has many a hill, and many a wood o'erpast,
Trembling beholds new mountains touch the skies,
And wider forests all around him rise.
His mind, unsettled by the sudden shock,
At length recovering, to his friend be spoke.
"Thy counsels, Trollio, thy inventive soul,
Have gain'd me half my power, secured the whole:
Display thy talents now; exert them all:
Rewards and honours wait without a call.
I dread Ernestus; and my cautious fear
These tidings would conceal, while he can hear.
Myself, ev'n now, some fair pretence will frame,
From this assembly to erase his name.
But haste, my friend, to council—should we stay,
Suspicion might comment on our delay!"

This said, they enter'd—at the monarch's side
Sate lordly Trollio, in accustom'd pride.
A mute attention still'd each listening man,
'Till, rising from his throne, the prince began.

"Friends of my heart! to whom your monarch owes
The brightest honours his kind fate bestows;
My empire, unconfirm'd, imperfect still,
Yet asks the aid of your auspicious skill.
Tho' Sweden's general voice consents to own
Me the true master of her triple throne,
Tho' her disputed crown adorns my brow,
And tributary millions round me bow;
One bold, one stubborn province, yet defies
My brandish'd arm, and to my threats replies;
In face of all the realm denies my right,
And challenges three kingdoms to the fight.
On Dalecarlia's wide uncultured ground,
With rugged hills, and mineral riches crown'd,
A race, endued with native freedom, dwell;
A race, that stood, when total Sweden fell.
Their strong and unremitting bands explore
In earth's dark caverns her metallic store,
And, from laborious days extracting health,
Rest satisfied, and ask no other wealth:
Rough and unyielding, like their native soil,
The hardy sons of Nature and of Toil;
Resistless vigour, resolute and warm,
Strings every nerve, and braces every arm.
Foremost to vindicate the righteous cause,
And from th' oppressor guard their injur'd laws,
Thro' many a rolling century these have shone
Th' unfailing champions of the Swedish throne,
And now with all my forces singly cope,
Sweden's last bulwark, and her choicest hope.
No trivial loss their courage will alarm,
No threatening martial show their minds disarm,
And bribes, those glittering, oft successful darts,
Will find no entrance to their guarded hearts.
No—fields must smoke, and blood in torrents flow,
Ere all our force can master such a foe."

More had he said, but, with indignant heat
Inspired, Ernestus started from his seat:
His soul's resistless ardour bade him rise,
His kindling soul came rushing to his eyes—

"Yes! fresh domains to ruin must succeed,
Fresh cities sink in flame, fresh thousands bleed!
What want'st thou more, thou prodigal of guilt!
Oppression's sword is buried to the hilt
In unoffending blood—what want'st thou more,
Thou sanguinary pest of an unhappy shore?
Far as thy sight can stretch, look round, and see
All Sweden piled with monuments of thee;
Behold her provinces with slaughter strown,
Her ruined fields, her castles overthrown;
Behold—But ah! more glaring than the rest,
In me thy brightest trophy stands confess'd!
Yes—prompt each fatal mandate to fulfil,
Perpetual slave of thy tyrannic will,
I stood, to sovereign infamy preferr'd,
The meanest of thy mercenary herd:
Thy crimes I copied—for thy worthless gold
My monarch's life, my country's freedom sold!
The cloud of wrath that veils in thickening gloom
Thee and those partners of thy crimes and doom,
In its black scope involv'd me—not a ray
Shot thro' the ambient night one glimpse of day;
'Till heaven's own mercy offer'd to my view
From its dark sphere, a radiant avenue:
Cheer'd with fresh hope, its limits I forsook,
And, wing'd with new-born speed, a fresh direction took.
If Heaven prohibit not the blow, my fate
Lies in thy hands; my transitory date
This hour may close; and thou, e'en thou, mayst be
The doom'd assertor of his wrath on me:
So let it be! E'en so, thy friendly hate
Will snatch its victim from a heavier fate:
And when the storms of vengeance, that impend
O'er thee and thine, collected shall descend,
The bolt that shakes your haughty souls with dread,
Shall roll innocuous o'er my shelter'd head,
Safe in that mansion of unbroken rest,
Which neither lightnings strike nor winds molest.
Thus then in brief, relentless tyrant, take
A fix'd resolve, thou hast no power to shake.
Let wily Trollio try his utmost art,
Join'd with thy power, on this determined heart.
Let sorrows round me like an ocean flow,
Let earth dividing yawn my grave below,
Bribes, threats, nor torments, more shall bid me own
Thy sway, or bow to thy detested throne,
Dread power! whom, prompt to succour and to bless,
Reverent I name, yet confident address,
Do thou the marks of former guilt efface,
Speed every just resolve, and every terror chase!"

Ernestus ceas'd. The listening senate heard;
On every face derision's smile appear'd.

⎧