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To guard his much lov'd country's weal,

From foreign or domestic foes,
Then gleam'd the watchful hero's steel,

And all the patriot's soul arose.
Then princes nobly sought renown

In suffering for the general good :How awful is the regal crown

When valour gems it with his blood !


On Lutzen's plain, at break of day,

Th' imperial ’Walstein form’d his line : The foe was nigh in dread array,

And Sweden, that brave band was thin The trumpets sung—the cannon roar'd,

The gallant chargers paw'd the groundLed by Adolphus, on they pour'd

And spread destruction all around.


O Lutzen! thou didst drink full deep

The blood of many a soldier bold; And Sweden's children yet do weep,

When e'er the mournful tale is told. Gustavus fell !-The monarch shed

His heart-stream on the fatal plain ; But glory smoothed the hero's bed,

And distant ages bless his reign.


Where has that patriot spirit Aed

That fired the Delecarlian swain, When from their cavern'd hills he led

His friends against the insulting Dane? Is Charles's blood extinct?--Ah go

Brave Swede! to Narva-she can say How felt the Russ the dreadful blow,

How gained the royal boy the day.


What dire effect from discord springs,

Unhappy Sweden now can tell; Gone is her race of noble kings

On whose great deeds she lov'd to dwell; Here statesmen sunk with servile fear,

Cringe at a vile usurper's throne ; Whilst patriots shed the secret tear,

And Jare not make their sorrows known.

O grasp thy sword, thou hardy Swede!

Thy country needs thy slumbering might ;
In her dear cause 'tis good to bleed,

Then dare the intruder to the fight ! Unfurl thy banners, Swedish youth,

A groaning nation hopes in thee; Go tell the world this welcome truth

Great VASA's sons shall still be free!

The Passions. An Ode.-COLLINS.

WHEN Music, heavenly Maid ! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell ; Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Filld with fury, rapt, inspir’d, From the supporting myrtles round, They snatch'd her instruments of sound ; And, as they oft had heard apart, Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, (for madness rul'd the hour) Would prove his own expressive power.

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid :
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,

E'en at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush’d, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own's his secret stings,
In one rude clash he struck the lyrë,

And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woful measures, wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguild :
A solemn, strange, and mingled air :

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure !

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She calls on Echo still through all her song :

And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted, smild, and wav'd her golden hair: And longer had she sung, but with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose.
He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down ;

And with a withering look,
The war denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo;

And ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat : And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein, [head.
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state ;
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd :

And, now it courted Love; now, raving, callid on Hate.

With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir’d,
Pale Melancholly sat retir'd;
And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul,

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing)
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, o, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown exercise rejoic'd to hear ;
And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's extatic trial,
He, with viny crown, advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addressid
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol ;
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids,

Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing :
While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound)

And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.


Alexander's Feast; or, the Power of Music.-An Ode for

St. Cecilia's Day.--DRYDEN.

'TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son.
Aloft in awful state,
The godlike hero sat
On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were plac'd around,
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;

So should desert in arms be crown'd.
The lovely Thais by his side,
Sat like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave,

None but the brave,
None but the brave, deserve the fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high,

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,

And Heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above;
(Such is the power of mighty love !)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god ;
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,
When he to fair Olympia pressid,

(world. And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the

The list’ning crowd admire the lofty sound ; A present Deity, they shout around; present Deity, the vaulted roofs rebound.

With ravished ears the monarch hears,

Assumes the God, affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young.

The jolly god in triumph comes !
Sound the trumpet ; beat the drums;


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