Whate'er his fate, nor terror's base control,

Nor hostile bribes, can e'er have moved his soul,

[Pg 48]

No! taught by me, Ernestus nobly spurns

Each vulgar aim, and for his country burns.

"Why art thou sad, my soul? the eye divine

Still looks on all; to grieve is to repine!

And tho' destruction cover all the shore,

Tho' heroes, kings, and statesmen be no more,

Tho' Stenon, vainly mild, and vainly brave,

Fill the dark bosom of the dreary grave,

Tho' Sweden's sons no earthly hope retain,

Tho' not one spark of ancient fire remain,

Tho' hostile banners crowd her blazing sky,

And stretch'd in dust her smoking castles lie:

Yet, Lord of all! from ruin's blackening ware,

Thy arm is till omnipotent to save:

Thy arm can stop the whirlwind's rushing breath,

And light with hope the funeral shades of death!

"The gloom dissolves! and Sweden's glories old

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