Joyful he wanders, and expects to see

Ten centuries of peace and liberty.

This seems to meet within some moonlight glade

His ancient friend, but now an empty shade:

The beckoning phantom stretches toward the skies:

He strives to follow, and the vision flies.

This bold ferocious spirit, madly strong,

Supporter of his country e'en to wrong,

[Pg 45]

Impetuous to extremes, now longs to dart

The point of vengeance into Christiern's heart:

A whetted dagger in his hand display'd

He waves in air, and, o'er and o'er survey'd,

Smiles grimly at the visionary blade.

"Thrice happy you! for fancy's shadowy power,

Unfailing friend of sorrow's darkest hour,

O'er your dim state a transient gleam can throw,

Like twilight glimmering on a waste of snow!

"But me, condemn'd alone to wake and weep,

My country's doubtful ills forbid to sleep:

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