And glad with comfort him they dare not aid.

"What help, what hope to Sweden now remains?
Imperial Charles with kindred power sustains
Her fell oppressor: his o'erwhelming hosts
Awe the wide North, and deluge Europe's coasts;
Nor could our forces Pavia's victor brave,
Tho' the fierce Dane were left without a slave.
Still arm'd for battle, watchful Norbi sweeps
With many a prow her subjugated deeps.
Dark Trollio, deep in all the craft of hell,
Who with one art a hundred hosts might quell,
Conducts her foes: his active prudence schools
The veteran leaders, and their courage rules.
Unnumber'd legions swarm thro' all her coast,
And scarce the land supports its conquering host.
Experienced Otho o'er the troops presides,
And parts their plunder, and their fury guides.
Her trembling people, as when winds conspire
To wrap some capital in clouds of fire,
Now here, now there, for hopeless succour fly,
Or, chill'd with dread, in pale submission lie.
Ev'n Dalecarlia's fierce untutored train
In arms a sullen slow defence maintain,
Nor meet the foe; but from their summits dare
His coming steps, and menace useless war.
Soon will the hostile steel, wide-conquering, mow
Their strength, and Sweden's last defence lie low.
No more is left to fate: the fix'd decree
Stands on the tablets of eternity: