on Sweden’s side.—­
    But see! the red-haired sun to ocean bends,
    And purple twilight on the heath descends. 
    Haste to your homes—­shake anxious care away,
    And, fresh with slumber, wait the long laborious day.”

      Adalfi spoke; and bade ere noon of night
    With sacred spells and many a mystic rite
    Invoke the Power Divine, and seek from high
    The dark events of dread futurity.

      Thus they; while, stretch’d beneath the sheltering wood,
    The son of Eric thus his thoughts pursued.

      “Yes—­’tis decreed! in heaven’s recording hall
    Her guardian Spirit wrote my country’s fall. 
    When first red faction burn’d thro’ all her shore,
    And icy Meler blush’d with civil gore,
    Our ills began.  As whirling Maelstrom sweeps
    The shrieking sailor to the boundless deeps,
    Wide and more wide the increasing ruin grew,
    And all our hopes into its vortex drew. 
    In vain the statesman thro’ laborious days
    Piled plan on plan, and maze involved in maze;
    In vain Sueante, and either Stenon, fought;
    In vain my arm a transient succour brought: 
    Almighty Fate on all our labours frown’d,
    Athwart each scheme the thread of error wound,
    Our efforts with an unseen chain controll’d,
    Perplex’d the prudent, and dismay’d the bold. 
    Fate urges on—­Her adamantine shield
    Protects our destined Conqueror in the field;
    To his own seas by War and Famine driven,
    Furious he mounts, nor heeds the frowns of heaven: 
    Fresh hosts appear, unnumber’d standards rise,
    From town to town his gather’d vengeance flies,
    His banner each ambitious prelate rears,
    In arms for him each factious Lord appears. 
    Still, as around the blackening tempest grew,
    From cloud to cloud my ardent spirit flew,
    Watch’d every gleam of sunshine as it pass’d,
    And hoped the darkness would dissolve at last: 
    But Time now hasten’d to the dread event!—­
    In fruitless toil my days, my nights were spent;
    Our chiefs deputed felt the treacherous chain,
    And faith was lost, and victory was vain.

      “Saved from the captive crowd for death designed,
    Many a dark month, in slavery’s gloom I pined. 
    To seek, with hopeless eyes, my native ground;
    To hear, in thought, the din of battle sound;
    To watch each passing beam, and think it falls
    On slaughter’d armies and unpeopled walls,
    Was all my life—­Suspense still waved a dart
    Of death-like terror o’er my throbbing heart.—­
    I was not there, when thou, my Stenon, fell,
    To cheer thee with a soldier’s kind farewell,
    At once to lay thy base betrayer low,
    And pour full vengeance on the astonished foe! 
    Thy spirit, from its earthly home released,
    Thy patriot spirit entered