From the day's revels and its cares reposed.

Among the ruffians that, allured by gain,
Lurk'd round the dwellings of the royal Dane,
The horrid eminence a Swede might claim,
A lawless wretch--Olaus was his name:
His name, with darkest brand exalted high,
Glared on the towering pitch of infamy.
Twice, o'er his head ere thirty suns had roll'd,
With shameless hand his freedom had he sold,
And twice in battle drawn his venal sword
Against a generous and forgiving lord.
Successive crimes o'er nature soon prevail'd,
And Denmark's king the perfect villain hail'd;
Bade his known skill each midnight treason guide,
And o'er each murdering band preside.

Him to a room the tyrant call'd by night,
Where thick and gloomy grates shut out the light;
From the low roof a smoky taper hung,
And wide around its fitful lustre flung.

"Haste, brave Olaus!" (Scandia's monarch spoke,
And on the ruffian cast a gracious look)
"Haste, to the castle's lofty walls repair,
And find Ernestus, lock'd in fetters there,
Him and his friend from their dark cell convey,
And lead them secret o'er the watery way;
Thou know'st the rest." No more the tyrant said;
And, at his word, th' obedient felon sped.