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GUSTAVUS VASA,

THE

DELIVERER OF HIS COUNTRY.

BY

BROOKE.

PROLOGUE.

BRITONS, this night presents a state distrest,
Though brave, yet vanquish'd, and, though great,

opprest;

Vice, rav'ning vulture, on her vitals prey'd,
Her
peers, her prelates, fell corruption sway'd;
Their rights, for power, th' ambitious weakly
sold,

The wealthy, poorly, for superfluous gold.
Hence wasting ills, hence severing factions rose,
And gave large entrance to invading foes:
Truth, justice, honour, fled th' infected shore,
For freedom, sacred freedom, was no more.

Then, greatly rising in his country's right,
Her hero, her deliverer, sprung to light;
A race of hardy, northern sons he led,
Guiltless of courts, untainted, and unread,
Whose inborn spirit spurn'd th' ignoble fee,
Whose hands scorn'd bondage, for their hearts
were free.

Ask ye,

what law their conquering cause confest?

Great nature's law, the law within the breast;
Form'd by no art, and to no sect confin'd,
But stamp'd by Heav'n upon th' unletter'd mind.

Such, such of old the first-born natives were,
Who breath'd the virtues of Britannia's air;
Their realm, when mighty Cæsar vainly sought,
For mightier freedom against Cæsar fought,
And rudely drove the fam'd invader home,
To tyrannize o'er polish'd, venal Rome.

Our bard, exalted in a free-born flame,
To every nation would transfer this claim:
He to no state, no climate, bounds his page,
He bids the moral beam through every age;
Then be your judgment generous as his plan!
Ye sons of freedom, save the friend of man!

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PETERSON, a Swedish nobleman, secretly of the
Danish party, and friend to Trollio.
LAERTES, a young Danish nobleman, attendant

to Cristina.

ANDERSON, chief lord of Dalecarlia.
ARNOLDUS, a Swedish priest, and chaplain in
the copper-mines of Dalecarlia
SIVARD, captain of the Dalecarlians.

WOMEN.

Prisoners in Cristiern's camp.

CRISTINA, daughter to Cristiern.
AUGUSTA, mother to Gustavus,
GUSTAVA, sister to Gustavus, a
child,
MARIANA, attendant and confidant to Cristina.
Soldiers, Peasants, Messengers, and Attendants,
SCENE-Dalecarlia, a northern province in Sweden.

GUSTAVUS, formerly general of the Swedes, and
first cousin to the deceased king.
ARVIDA, of the royal blood of Sweden, friend
and cousin to Gustavus.

VOL. II.

L

ACT I.

SCENE I-The Inside of the Copper-mines of Or turn upon our hunters.

Dalecarlia.

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ing ray

May bring the cheer of morn. What, then, is he?
His dwelling marks a secret in his soul,
And whispers somewhat more than man about
him.

Arn. Draw but the veil of his apparent wretchedness,

And you shall find his form is but assumed,
To hoard some wondrous treasure lodged within.
And. Let him bear up to what thy praises
speak him,

And I will win him, spite of his reserve,
Bind him, with sacred friendship, to my soul,
Ard make him half myself.

Arn. 'Tis nobly promised;

For worth is rare, and wants a friend in Sweden;
And yet I tell thee, in her age of heroes,
When, nursed by freedom, all her sons grew great,
And every peasant was a prince in virtue,
I greatly err, or this abandoned stranger

Had stepped the first for fame, though now he

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And. Now, Gustavus!

Thou prop and glory of inglorious Sweden,
Where art thou, mightiest man?-Were he but
here!-

I'll tell thee, my Arnoldus, I beheld him,
Then when he first drew sword, serene and
dreadful,

As the browed evening ere the thunder break;
For soon he made it toilsome to our eyes
To mark his speed, and trace the paths of con-

quest.

In vain we followed, where he swept the field; 'Twas death alone could wait upon Gustavus. Arn. He was, indeed, whate'er our wish could form him.

And. Arrayed and beauteous in the blood of
Danes,

The invaders of his country, thrice he chaced
This Cristiern, this fell conqueror, this usurper,
With rout and foul dishonour at his heels,
To plunge his head in Denmark.

Arn. Nor ever had the tyrant known return, To tread our necks, and blend us with the dust, Had he not dared to break through every law That sanctifies the nations, seized our hero, The pledge of specious treaty, tore him from

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Unknown, unfriended, compassed round with wretchedness,

Conceals some mighty purpose in his breast,
Now labouring into birth.

And. When came he hither?

Arn. Six moons have changed upon the face

of night,

Since here he first arrived, in servile weeds,
But yet of mien majestic. I observed him,
And, ever as I gazed, some nameless charm,
A wondrous greatness not to be concealed,
Broke through his form, and awed my soul be-
fore him.

Amid these mines, he earns the hireling's pertion;

His hands out-toil the hind; while, on his brow,
Sits patience, bathed in the laborious drops
Of painful industry. I oft have sought,
With friendly tender of some worthier service,
To win him from his temper; but he shuns
All offers, yet declined with graceful act,
Engaging beyond utterance: and, at eve,
When all retire to some domestic solace,
He only stays, and, as you see, the earth
Receives him to her dark and cheerless bosom.

And. Has no unwary moment e'er betrayed The labours of his soul, some favourite grief, Whereon to raise conjecture?

Arn. I saw, as some bold peasants late deplored

Their country's bondage, sudden passion seized
And bore him from his seeming; strait his form
Was turned to terror, rain filled his eye,
And his proud step appeared to awe the world:
When checked, as though an impotence of
rage,

Damp sadness soon usurped upon his brow,
And the big tear rolled graceful down his vi-

sage.

And. Your words imply a man of much importance.

Arn. So I suspected; and at dead of night Stole on his slumbers: his full heart was busy; And oft his tongue pronounced the hated name Of-bloody Cristiern-there he seemed to

pause;

And, recollected to one voice, he cried, 'O Sweden! O my country! Yet I'll save thee.' And. Forbear-he rises-Heavens, what majesty!

Enter GUSTAVUS.

Of blood-trained ministry were loosed to ruin.
Invention wantoned in the toil of infants
Stabbed on the breast, or reeking on the points
Of sportive javelins. Husbands, sons, and sires,
With dying ears drank in the loud despair
Of shrieking chastity. The waste of war
Was peace and friendship to this civil massacre.
O Heaven and earth! Is there a cause for this!
For sin without temptation, calm, cool villainy,
Deliberate mischief, unimpassioned lust,
And smiling murder? Lie thou there, my soul;
Sleep, sleep upon it! image not the form
Of any dream but this, 'till time grows pregnant,
And thou canst wake to vengeance.

And. Thou hast greatly moved me. Ha! thy tears start forth.

Yes, let them flow, our country's fate demands them;

I too will mingle mine, while yet 'tis left us
To weep in secret, and to sigh with safety.
But wherefore talk of vengeance? "Tis a word
Should be engraven on the new-fallen snow,
Where the first beam may melt it from obser-

vance.

Vengeance on Cristiern! Norway and the Dane,
The sons of Sweden, all the peopled North,
Bends at his nod: my humbler boast of power

And. Your pardon, stranger, if the voice of Meant not to cope with crowns.

virtue,

If cordial amity from man to man,

And somewhat that should whisper to the soul,
To seek and cheer the sufferer, led me hither,
Impatient to salute thee. Be it thine
Alone to point the path of friendship out;
And my best power shall wait upon thy fortunes.
Gust. Yes, generous man! there is a wond-
rous test,

The truest, worthiest, noblest cause for friendship;

Dearer than life, than interest, or alliance,
And equal to your virtues.

And. Say-unfold.

Gust. Art thou a soldier, a chief lord in Sweden,

And yet a stranger to thy country's voice,
That loudly calls the hidden patriot forth?
But what's a soldier? What's a lord in Sweden?
All worth is fled, or fallen-nor has a life
Been spared, but for dishonour; spared to breed
More slaves for Denmark, to beget a race
Of new-born virgins for the insatiate lust
Of our new masters. Sweden! thou'rt no more!
Queen of the North! thy land of liberty,
Thy house of heroes, and thy seat of virtues,
Is now the tomb, where thy brave sons lie speech-
less,

And foreign snakes engender.
And. O'tis true.

But wherefore? To what purpose?

Gust. Think of Stockholm!

When Cristiern seized upon the hour of peace,
And drenched the hospitable floor with blood;
Then fell the flower of Sweden, mighty names!
Her hoary senators, and gasping patriots.
The tyrant spoke, and his licentious band

Gust. Then what remains

-no

Is briefly this; your friendship has my thanks,
But must not my acceptance: never-
First sink, thou baleful mansion, to the centre,
And be thy darkness doubled round my head,
'Ere I forsake thee for the bliss of paradise,
To be enjoyed beneath a tyrant's sceptre!
No, that were slavery-Freedom is
The brilliant gift of Heaven, 'tis reason's self,
The kin of Deity-I will not part it.

And. Nor I, while I can hold it; but alas!
That is not in our choice.

Gust. Why? where's that power whose engines are of force

To bend the brave and virtuous man to slavery? Base fear, the laziness of lust, gross appetites, These are the ladders, and the grovelling foot

stool,

From whence the tyrant rises on our wrongs, Secure and sceptered in the soul's servility. He has debauched the genius of our country, And rides triumphant, while her captive sons Await his nod, the silken slaves of pleasure, Or fettered in their fears.

And. I apprehend you.

No doubt, a base submission to our wrongs
May well be termed a voluntary bondage;
But think the heavy hand of power is on us;
Of power, from whose imprisonment and chains
Not all our free-born virtue can protect us.

Gust. 'Tis there you err, for I have felt their
force;
And had I yielded to enlarge these limbs,
Or share the tyrant's empire, on the terms
Which he proposed-I were a slave indeed.
No-in the deep and deadly damp of dungeons,
The soul can rear her sceptre, sinile in anguish,

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But give a tongue to such a cause as this,
And, if you hold me tardy in the call,
You know me not-But thee I've surely known;
For there is somewhat in that voice and form,
Which has alarmed my soul to recollection;
But 'tis as in a dream, and mocks my reach.
Gust. Then name the man whom it is death
to know,

Or knowing to conceal-and I am he.
And. Gustavus?-Heavens! 'tis he! 'tis he

himself!

Enter ARVIDA, speaking to a Servant. Arv. I thank you, friend, he's here, you may retire.

And. Good morning to my noble guest; you're early. [GUSTAVUS walks apart. Arv. I come to take a short and hasty leave: 'Tis said, that from the mountain's neighbouring brow,

The canvas of a thousand tents appears,
Whitening the vale-Suppose the tyrant there;
You know my safety lies not in the interview-
Ha! What is he, who in the shreds of slavery
Supports a step, superior to the state
And insolence of ermine?

Gust. Sure that voice,

Was once the voice of friendship and Arvida! Arv. Ha! Yes'tis he !—ye powers! it is Gustavus !

Gust. Thou brother of adoption! In the bond Of every virtue wedded to my soul, Enter my heart! it is thy property.

Arv. I'm lost in joy and wondrous circum

stance.

Gust. Yet, wherefore, my Arvida, wherefore is it,

That in a place, and at a time like this,

We should thus meet? Can Cristiern cease from cruelty?

Say, whence is this, my brother? How escaped you?

Did I not leave thee in the Danish dungeon?

Arv. Of that hereafter. Let me view thee first. How graceful is the garb of wretchedness, When worn by virtue! Fashions turn to folly; Their colours tarnish, and their pomps grow poor, To her magnificence.

Gust. Yes, my Arvida.

Beyond the sweeping of the proudest train,
That shades a monarch's heel, I prize these
weeds,

For they are sacred to my country's freedom.
A mighty enterprise has been conceived,
And thou art come, auspicious to the birth,
As sent to fix the seal of Heaven upon it.
Arv. Point but thy purpose-let it be to
bleed-

Gust. Your hands, my friends!
All. Our hearts.

Gust. I know they're brave.

Of such the time has need; of hearts like yours
Faithful and firm; of hands inured and strong;
For we must ride upon the neck of danger,
And plunge into a purpose big with death.
And. Here let us kneel, and bind us to thy
side.

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Gust. Know, then, that ere our royal Stenon fell,

While thus my valiant cousin and myself,
By chains and treachery, lay detained in Den-
mark,

Upon a dark and unsuspected hour,
The bloody Cristiern sought to take my head.
Thanks to the ruling power, within whose eye
Imbosomed ills and mighty treasons roll,
Prevented of their blackness, I escaped,
Led by a generous arm, and some time lay
Concealed in Denmark-for my forfeit head
Became the price of crowns, each port and path
Was shut against my passage-'till I heard
That Stenon, valiant Stenon, fell in battle,
And freedom was no more. O then, what bounds
Had power to hem the desperate! I o'erpassed
them,

Traversed all Sweden, through ten thousand foes,
Impending perils, and surrounding tongues,
That from himself enquired Gustavus out.
Witness, my country, how I toiled to wake
Thy sons to liberty! In vain-for fear,
Cold fear had seized on all-Here last I came,
And shut me from the sun, whose hateful beams
Served but to shew the ruins of my country.
When here, my friends, 'twas here at length
I found,

What I had left to look for, gallant spirits,
In the rough form of untaught peasantry.

And. Indeed they once were brave; our Dale

carlians

Have oft been known to give a law to kings;

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Most aptly hast thou caught the passing hour,
Upon whose critical and fated hinge
The state of Sweden turns.

Gust. And to this hour

I've therefore held me in this darksome womb,
That sends me forth as to a second birth
Of freedom, or through death to reach eternity.
This day, returned with every circling year,
In thousands pours the mountain peasants forth,
Each with his battered arms and rusty helm,
In sportive discipline well trained, and prompt
Against the day of peril- thus disguised,
Already have I stirred their latent sparks
Of slumbering virtue, apt as I could wish,
To warm before the lightest breath of liberty.
Arn. How will they kindle when, confessed to
view,

Once more their loved Gustavus stands before
them,

And pours his blaze of virtues on their souls!

Are. It cannot fail.

And. It has a glorious aspect.

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Gust. How, my friend?

Arv. Some months are passed since in the
Danish dungeon,

With care emaciate, and unwholsome damps,
Sickening, I lay, chained to my flinty bed,
And called on death to ease me-strait a light
Shone round, as when the ministry of heaven
Descends to kneeling saints. But 0 ! the form
That poured upon my sight-Ye angels, speak !
For ye alone are like her; or present
Such visions pictured to the nightly eye
Of fancy, tranced in bliss. She then approached,
The softest pattern of embodied meckness—
For pity had divinely touched her eye,
And harmonized her motions- Ah,' she cried,
، Unhappy stranger, art not thou the man,
"Whose virtues have endeared thee to Gustavus?"
Gust. Gustavus did she say?
Arv. Yes, yes, her lips

Arv. Now Sweden! rise and re-assert thy Breathed forth that name with a peculiar sweet

rights,

Or be for ever fallen.

And. Then be it so.

Arn. Lead on, thou arm of war,

To death or victory !

Gust. Let us embrace.

Why thus, my friends, thus joined in such a cause,
Are we not equal to a host of slaves!

You say the foe's at hand-Why let them come!
Steep are our hills, nor easy of access,
And few the hours we ask for their reception.
For I will take these rustic sons of liberty
In the first warmth and hurry of their souls;
And should the tyrant then attempt our heights,
He comes upon his fate-Arise, thou sun!
Haste, haste to rouse thee to the call of liberty,
That shall once more salute thy morning beam,
And hail thee to thy setting!

Arn. O blessed voice!

Prolong that note but one short day through Swe.
den,

And though the sun and life should set together,
It matters not-we shall have lived that day.

Art. Were it not worth the hazard of a life
To know if Cristiern leads his powers in person,
And what his scope intends ? Be mine that task ;
Even to the tyrant's tent I'll win my way,
And mingle with his councils.

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