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To guard his much lov'd country's weal,
From foreign or domestic foes,
And all the patriot's soul arose.
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.
Thy country needs thy slumbering might ;
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 :
E'en at the sound himself had made.
In lightnings own's his secret stings,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Low sullen sounds his grief beguild :
'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 from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
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.
And with a withering look,
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,
Sad proof of thy distressful state ;
And, now it courted Love; now, raving, callid on Hate.
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir’d,
In notes, by distance made more sweet,
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)
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;
Brown exercise rejoic'd to hear ;
Last came Joy's extatic trial,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
And he, amidst his frolic play,
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.
His valiant peers were plac'd around,
So should desert in arms be crown'd.
Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave,
Amid the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
And Heavenly joys inspire.
(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,
The jolly god in triumph comes !