O'er crowded streets, and marts, and sacred spires,

That glitter'd with the day's declining fires.

There, round his limbs a length of chain they threw,

Strict charge enjoin'd, and to their posts withdrew.

The tranquil captive press'd the rugged ground,

Smiled on his chains, and gazed the prison round;

"And here," he cried, "the fates, relenting, give

Fair Freedom back; again to her I live!

I am once more a patriot—fix once more

My foot on rectitude's deserted shore!

O Sweden! tho' by me to death betray'd,

Accept these tears, thou dear maternal shade!

Thy image shall my lonely dungeon cheer,

And in dark slumbers to my soul appear:

While hopes of thee shall every terror brave,

And gild the gloomy confines of the grave.

[Pg 36]

Tho' snatch'd by cleaving earth to central gloom,

Or buried in the Ocean's watery tomb,

Yet should my soul in exile pant for thee,

 Prev. P 36/206 next