Gustavus Vasa - and other poems by William Sidney Walker
page 57 of 187 (30%)
page 57 of 187 (30%)
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A whetted dagger in his hand display'd }
He waves in air, and, o'er and o'er survey'd, } Smiles grimly at the visionary blade. } "Thrice happy you! for fancy's shadowy power, Unfailing friend of sorrow's darkest hour, O'er your dim state a transient gleam can throw, Like twilight glimmering on a waste of snow! "But me, condemn'd alone to wake and weep, My country's doubtful ills forbid to sleep: Each night the agonizing theme renews, And bathes my cheek in sorrow's bitterest dews. Where art thou, Stenon? whose resistless hand Stretch'd like a shield o'er this deserted land! Say, does that hand still turn a nation's doom, Or sleeps its valour in the silent tomb? Heroes and chieftains! whither are ye fled, Whose powerful arm collected Sweden led? I saw you glorious, from the field of fight, When Denmark shrunk before your stormy might: And now, perhaps, your buried ashes sleep, And o'er your honour'd tombs your country's sorrows weep. Illustrious senators! whose wisdom view'd Th' approaching storm, and oft its strength subdued: And thou, young Vasa! once renown'd in war, Thy country's hope, and freedom's northern star: Too true, alas! I fear, a tyrant's hand Has swept your glories from the darken'd land. Why else these walls resign'd to Christiern's powers, |
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