Sweden, rise! I bid thee brave,
Unappall'd, War's dubious wave,
'Till the doom'd period close!
War in vain shall spend his rage,
Prelude to a peaceful age
That shall redress his woes.
Sweden! rouse thy martial band;
'Tis thy Guardian Power's command!

When the slow-emerging sun
First dispels the shadows dun,
And his whole circle rears:
When the north-wind's stormy breath
Shakes the mountain, sweeps the heath,
The clouded ether clears:
Own the signal of the sky!
Hail the great Deliverer nigh!




THE RIVER TICINUS:

FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF SILIUS ITALICUS.


Cœruleas Ticinus aquas et stagna vadoso
Perspicuus servat turbari nescia fundo,
Ac nitidum viridi latè trahit amne liquorem:
Vix credas labi; ripis tam mitis opacis,