The long procession glides in lordly state;

Then each, with eyes in balmy slumber closed,

From the day's revels and its cares reposed.

Among the ruffians that, allured by gain,

Lurk'd round the dwellings of the royal Dane,

The horrid eminence a Swede might claim,

A lawless wretch—Olaus was his name:

His name, with darkest brand exalted high,

Glared on the towering pitch of infamy.

Twice, o'er his head ere thirty suns had roll'd,

With shameless hand his freedom had he sold,

And twice in battle drawn his venal sword

Against a generous and forgiving lord.

[Pg 57]

Successive crimes o'er nature soon prevail'd,

And Denmark's king the perfect villain hail'd;

Bade his known skill each midnight treason guide,

And o'er each murdering band preside.

Him to a room the tyrant call'd by night,

Where thick and gloomy grates shut out the light;

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