Sweden, rise! I bid thee
Unappall’d, War’s dubious wave,
’Till the doom’d period close!
War in vain shall spend his rage,
Prelude to a peaceful age
That shall redress his woes.
Sweden! rouse thy martial band;
’Tis thy Guardian Power’s command!
When the slow-emerging sun
First dispels the shadows dun,
And his whole circle rears:
When the north-wind’s stormy breath
Shakes the mountain, sweeps the heath,
The clouded ether clears:
Own the signal of the sky!
Hail the great Deliverer nigh!
THE RIVER TICINUS:
FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF SILIUS ITALICUS.
Coeruleas Ticinus aquas et
Perspicuus servat turbari nescia fundo,
Ac nitidum viridi late trahit amne liquorem:
Vix credas labi; ripis tam mitis opacis,
Argutos inter volucrum certamina cantus,
Somniferam ducit lucenti gurgite lympham.
* * * * *
Thro’ these fair scenes
the smooth Ticinus glides,
And in soft murmurs rolls his slumbering tides:
No mud disturbs the mirror calm and deep;
The clouds upon its stilly bosom sleep:
The varied beauties of the flowery scene
Chequer the azure light, and paint the floods with green.
Scarce seems the wave to roll, so sweetly flows
The tranquil stream, inviting soft repose:
While on its side, in tuneful contest gay,
Their mellow notes the feather’d songsters play.
JUPITER THUNDERING IN DEFENCE OF ROME:
FROM THE TENTH BOOK.
Ipse refulgebat Tarpeiae culmine
Elata quatiens flagrantia fulmina dextra,
Jupiter, ac lati fumabant sulphure campi,
Et gelidis Anio trepidabat coerulus undis:
Et densi ante oculos iterumque iterumque tremendum
* * * * *
High on the rock, the God,
with furious look,
From side to side his burning thunder shook:
Now here, now there, the scattering lightnings broke,
And the wide vallies flamed, and glowed with sulphurous smoke:
Contagious terror roll’d from plain to plain;
Cold Anio trembled in his watery reign;
And dazzled by the withering flames, o’eraw’d,
The chief shrunk back, and own’d the present God.
FRAGMENT, IN IMITATION OF WALTER SCOTT.
Where are the kings of ancient
Where are the terrors of their day,
The chiefs that with glory bled?
Soon, soon their little sun was o’er;
And, hurried to oblivion’s shore,
Their very names are fled!