“Farewell, my father’s home, farewell! I shall return with love and dwell Again within thy walls some day. I can not wait, I must away. Hide me beneath thy veil, O Night, And give my Axel to my sight.” Already lay upon the strands Of slumbering Sweden’s vanquished lands Czar Peter’s city, which has since Held crowns in pledge from many a prince. Then was it paltry. On its bay It like a new-born dragon lay. Yet nature is betrayed in young That coils itself on heated sands, Already venom in its glands, And hisses on its cloven tongue. A fleet to ravage Svea’s[F] shores Was lading there with murderous stores, And thitherward Maria pressed, And where the ships received their hoard Traced out her way, and made request That she might have a place on board. An officer who walked the quay, And saw, surprised, addressed her then: “You seem more dangerous, Sir youth, To Northern maids than Northern men. However it shall go with thee, They can not tweak thy beard, forsooth! Yet thou canst learn of them the whole Of war: it is for death or life; But either issue of the strife God and Saint Nicholas control.”
The sails are set, the keel cuts through The foam, and hastens toward the west, And Svea’s cliffs soon rise to view In sunset flames: they stand at rest Amid the swirl of tide and wave, The giant landmarks nature gave Of old to warn of dangerous strands. They landed on the famous sands Which skirt the base of Sota’s reef, Where parted Hjalmar[G] from the side Of Ingeborg,[G] his faithful bride, Where afterward she died of grief, When Odin called the youth above To Valhall’s courts, to do his will; And there her ghost sits lingering still Upon the cliff and mourns her love.
But towns are blazing one by one, And children shriek and women fly; Too well they know the war begun, And bells are ringing far and nigh Both night and day the call to arms. Alas! the dead hear no alarms. Woe! wretched land! what arm can save? Thy valiant men are in their grave. But still the peril of the land Joins boys and old men in a band With swords which smote on German mail, And saw Gustavus’s hosts prevail, And halberds wielded with despatch In Denmark, worn with victory, And curious shapes of musketry With rusted locks, and kindled match. Such was the kingdom’s sole defence, A paltry troop, and weaponed ill; Without surprise or doubt it still Went forth to drive the foemen thence. These did not battle hand to hand, But spread their cloud across the land, And lightened from the mountain’s crown Where boldest hearts could not aspire, And unrevenged death thundered down On scanty ranks with ceaseless fire.