“Thou too, Ernestus! what protecting doom
    Has guided thee thro’ fate’s tremendous gloom? 
    Unhappy relic of a patriot line,
    Dost thou with all their ancient glory shine,
    And, unappall’d by labour or by fear,
    Lift for thy country the protecting spear? 
    Or, wrapt in fetters, and in darkness lost,
    Say, dost thou languish for thy native coast? 
    Perhaps, unnoted, by the tyrant’s eyes,
    In unknown solitude secure he lies—­
    Whate’er his fate, nor terror’s base control,
    Nor hostile bribes, can e’er have moved his soul,
    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
    With added lustre to my sight unfold;
    He comes! the doom’d deliverer, from afar,
    Gathers his rushing thousands to the war! 
    His generous might uniting factions greet,
    And crush’d oppression groans beneath his feet: 
    From each bright year successive glories spring,
    And shouting millions hail a patriot king!

      “For me—­these joys assured, in calm repose,
    With trembling hope, I wait my end of woes. 
    Long vers’d in sufferings, I no more complain,
    Nor shall one tear my former patience stain. 
    Long, long, has time, slow rolling, swept away
    The dear companions of my earlier day;
    So long, that memory scarce their names retains,
    And blank oblivion o’er my bosom reigns. 
    Ernestus, now, alone sustains their part,
    (Loved more than all) within this widow’d heart: 
    And thou, my God, wilt hear my prayers, and spread
    A guardian veil o’er youthful virtue’s head. 
    Thy hand supreme, an ever watchful guide,
    Has steer’d me safe o’er life’s uncertain tide;
    Has led me on thro’ danger’s various forms,
    Thro’ faithless sunshine, and thro’ whelming storms: 
    Thy kind indulgence now unfolds the page
    Of future time to my desponding age. 
    On thee I call, with grateful joy oppress’d,
    To speed my passage to eternal rest! 
    I am alone on earth—­at heaven’s bright gate,