The waves successive lash the stony shore.
The bold advice, by inexperience moved,
All seem'd applauding, yet not all approved;
And old Adalfi thus: "Tho' hopes remain; }
Tho' dauntless rashness may oft-times attain }
What wisdom's wiliest arts had sought in vain; }
He, whose wild counsels risk a nation's fate,
For public fame, may meet with public hate.
Perhaps, ev'n now, to the victorious Dane
Dalarne has yielded half her rich domain:
Shall we to Denmark's slaves our hopes disclose,
And court with frantic haste Oppression's rushing woes?--
Oft have our sires the work of war delay'd,
'Till signs aërial promised heavenly aid;
Oft pitch'd their idle lances in the plain,
While south-winds held their unpropitious reign.
Remember too the word disclosed from high,
The sacred word of ancient prophecy,--
"When gather'd mists from Denmark's sky shall crowd,
And blot the North with one continued cloud,
Then shall a second sun to Sweden rise,
And with unchanging glory gild her skies."
Reflect on this, and let my words have way,
Nor spurn the needful counsels of delay.
Should all our province with united strength
Assail the foe, the foe may yield at length,
And backward shrink, while in the favouring hour
All Sweden aids us with collective power.
The hope that yet remains our care should guard,
Nor blast by rashness, nor by fears retard.