ON what foundation stands the warrior’s pride, | |
| How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide: | |
| A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, | |
| No dangers fright him, and no labors tire; | |
| O’er love, o’er fear, extends his wide domain, | 5 |
| Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain; | |
| No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, | |
| War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; | |
| Behold, surrounding kings their powers combine, | |
| And one capitulate, and one resign; | 10 |
| Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; | |
| No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, | |
| War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; | |
| Behold, surrounding kings their powers combine, | |
| And one capitulate, and one resign; | 15 |
| Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; | |
| “Think nothing gained,” he cries, “till naught remain; | |
| On Moscow’s walls till Gothic standards fly, | |
| And all be mine beneath the polar sky.” | |
| The march begins in military state, | 20 |
| And nations on his eye suspended wait; | |
| Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, | |
| And Winter barricades the realms of frosts; | |
| He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay:— | |
| Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa’s day! | 25 |
| The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands, | |
| And shows his miseries in distant lands; | |
| Condemned a needy supplicant to wait; | |
| While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. | |
| But did not chance at length her error mend? | 30 |
| Did no subverted empire mark his end? | |
| Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? | |
| Or hostile millions press him to the ground? | |
| His fall was destined to a barren strand, | |
| A petty fortress, and a dubious hand: | 35 |
| He left the name, at which the world grew pale, | |
| To point a moral, or adorn a tale. | |
| |
