my growing song
    To roll with nobler energy along! 
    Before me Life’s extended vale appears,
    Onward I hasten thro’ the gulf of years,
    And soon must sink beneath them; let my name
    With one bright furrow of recording fame
    Mark my brief course!—­If led by thee I stray’d
    In youth’s sweet dawn beneath the hazel shade,
    While over head clear shone the sunny beam,
    And noon’s weak breeze scarce curl’d the tepid stream: 
    Still aid me, gentle Spirit! still inspire
    My first bold task, and add diviner fire.

Thou too, eternal Freedom!  Britain’s friend,
To British strains thy wonted influence lend,
And fire my kindling mind, while I display
Thy own Gustavus in unclouded day. 
From where, on vast Nevada’s icy brow,
Enthroned in clouds, thou view’st the realm below,
The Lusian, Gaul, and Albion’s warring train,
The clash of arms, and tumult of the plain;
From thence I call thee—­rouse thy name once more, }
And to an equal theme thine aid implore,           }
Since Spain is now, what Sweden was before.        }

      And now with transport wild Ernestus spies
    Dalarne’s continuous coast before him rise. 
    Ere yet he reach’d the bank, the toiling oar
    He dropp’d, and sprung impatient to the shore. 
    Before him wide the dark-brow’d forests frown’d,
    And morn’s still hour hush’d all the space around,
    Save where the whispers of the changeful breeze
    Half waved the summits of the towering trees. 
    Alone, and guided by a straggling beam,
    He hastened onward, where the murmuring stream
    Cut thro’ the woods its liquid way, and laved
    The grass, that round their trunks luxuriant waved. 
    The willing woods an easy passage yield,
    And his glad footsteps reach the bordering field.

      O’er many a hill he pass’d, and many a plain,
    While the steep sun toiled up heaven’s blue domain: 
    At length, o’erspent with labour, he descries
    A spire white-glistening in the morning-skies;
    Around, a hundred cots in order rose, }
    And mingling trees a shadowy scene compose; }
    A mighty wood, o’er all, its dark protection throws. }
    On vale, on village, and protecting wood,
    The southern sun shot down his fiery flood. 
    Recent from toil, the weary peasant-train
    Reclined their languid limbs along the plain,
    Or dragg’d their idle steps along the soil,
    To watch the mountain-miner’s distant toil. 
    Here first Ernestus paused, and gazing round,
    Traced the wide scene, and measured all the ground. 
    At length, his search determined to delay
    ’Till deepening twilight quench the crimson ray,
    On the cool grass his weary limbs he threw,
    While future years rose imaged to his view,
    From hope to hope his mind enraptur’d pass’d,