The fields were silent, and the heavens serene.
The sheep had sought the fold; nor yet arose
Night's listless bird from her dull day's repose.
When in a vale with shadowy firs replete,
Whose broad boughs rustled thro' the dark retreat,
Beneath a pine that sunk to slow decay,
Unseen, Gustavus pass'd the hours away.
From earliest morn, ere day's third glass was run, }
The chief had mused, nor mark'd the rising son; }
And the retiring day appear'd as just begun. }
Each flattering argument his mind revolved,
Each gleam of patriot hope yet undissolved,
Traced to its dubious source each meteor-light,
'Till the last spark went out, and all was night.
Convinced at length, he spoke: the woods around
With solemn awe return'd the mournful sound;
And souls of patriots listen'd from on high,
Uncertain yet of Sweden's destiny.

"Yes, thou must fall! oh once o'er earth renown'd,
Queen of the North, with choicest blessings crown'd,
While martial glory waited on thy voice,
And wealth and power seem'd rivals for thy choice!
Ye fond survivors of a ruined state, }
Here quit, at length, your hopes of happier fate, }
And view your country's fix'd unalterable date! }
You were not made to fear a tyrant's frown,
To gild with tributary wealth his crown,
To welcome some deputed robber's sway,
And watch his wavering will from day to day: