Stockholm to Christiern bow'd her captive head; }
By Treachery's axe her slaughter'd senate bled, }
And her brave chief was numbered with the dead. }
Piled with her breathless sons, th' uncultured land
With daily ravage fed a wasteful band;
And ruthless Christiern, wheresoe'er be flew,
Around his steps a track of crimson drew.
Already, by Heaven's dark protection led,
To Dalecarlia Sweden's hero fled;
There, with a pious friend retired, unknown,
He mourn'd his country's sorrows, and his own.
Those mountain peasants, negatively free,
The sole surviving friends of Liberty,
Unbought by bribes, still trample Christiern's power,
And wait in silence the decisive hour.

'Twas morn when Christiern bade a herald call
His secret council to the regal hall--
Those whom his skill, selecting, had combined
To share the deep recesses of his mind:
In these the prince unshaken trust reposed,
To these his intricate designs disclosed;
Their counsel, teeming with maturest thought,
His ripening plans to full perfection brought,
Each enterprise with proper means supplied,
And stemm'd strong difficulty's threatening tide:
The summons heard, th' obedient train attend,
Collect, and hastening toward the palace bend.