roamed in foreign lands; at length, 'mid Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp
a Swedish spear! Yet, looking forth, although I see none but the fearless
and the free, sad thoughts the sight inspires; for where, I think, on
Swedish ground, save where these mountains frown around, can that best
heritage be found--the freedom of our sires? Yes, Sweden pines beneath the
yoke; the galling chain our fathers broke is round our country now! On
perjured craft and ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has built, and
Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow. On you your
country turns her eyes--on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of noblest
stem! The foremost place in rolls of fame, by right your fearless fathers
claim; yours is the glory of their name,--'t is yours to equal them. As
rushing down, when winter reigns, resistless to the shaking plains, the
torrent tears its way, and all that bars its onward course sweeps to the
sea with headlong force, so swept your sires the Dane and Norse;--can ye do
less than they? Rise! Reassert your ancient pride, and down the hills a
living tide of fiery valor pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, back to
his den the foe will cower;--then, then shall Freedom's glorious hour
strike for our land once more! What! silent motionless, ye stand? Gleams
not an eye? Moves not a hand? Think ye to fly your fate? Or till some
better cause be given, wait ye?--Then wait! till, banished, driven, ye fear
to meet the face of Heaven;--till ye are slaughtered, wait. But no! your
kindling hearts gainsay the thought. Hark! hear that bloodhound's bay! Yon
blazing village see! Rise, countrymen! Awake! Defy the haughty Dane! Your
battlecry be Freedom! We will do or die! On! Death or victory!


XLVII.

NOBILITY OF LABOR.