the changeful earth four suns had roll'd,
When Stockholm's towers and Meler's native stream,
Of every vision, every thought the theme,
Recall'd my steps.--Returning thence, I saw
Byzantium sunk beneath a victor's law:
O'er the high walls barbaric ensigns wave,
Red with the recent carnage of the brave:
On quarter'd camps the sun his red beam flings;
Thro' night's dim arch the shrill-toned Ezzau rings;
Buried in dust the Christian altars lie,
And exiled Science seeks another sky.

"Thus, Sweden, mayst thou fall! in ruin lost,
Each hope of aid by swift destruction cross'd;
Thy blazing domes may feed a tyrant's ire,
Thy shrines; unwilling, burn with Danish fire;
Thy latest king, like Constantine, in vain
May join his slaughtered subjects on the plain!--
Handmaid of Science, and by Science fed,
Each vice already rears its blooming head:
Already Treason digs his silent mine; }
With, civil follies, foreign wars combine; }
And raging Faction waits to give th' appointed sign. }
Oh! in that hour, when growing dangers rise,
When the weak trembles, and the faithless flies,
Gustavus, fight for her! for Sweden fight!
For her employ the day, outwatch the night!
Untouch'd by grief, by terror, or dismay,
Urge thro' surrounding ills thy fearless way;
Let useless torture and defeated hate
Confess the triumphs of a hero's fate:
Let tranquil courage in each act be seen,
And tyrants tremble at thy dying mien!'

"He spoke no more. O'er my astonish'd soul
I felt a flood of high emotions roll:
Toss'd on the mighty stream of future time,
My young heart shook with ecstasies sublime!

"Oh, look not from thy skies, lamented shade,
Nor view that land to misery betray'd:
If ignorance can cloud immortal sight,
Be Sweden's fortunes wrapp'd in tenfold night!
Thou saw'st not Devastation sweep her shore,
Her forests smoke, her rivers roll in gore;
Thou saw'st not half her woes. Her senate low,
Thou thought'st her people would revenge the blow;
And hope shone kindling in thy dying eye,
That some new sun would rise to light her starless sky.--
'Twas then, when Christiern thought the axe too slow,
And watch'd with eager transport every blow,
And drank each murmur that to death consign'd
The noblest, wisest, bravest of m