Charles
XII of Sweden
by Samuel
Johnson
|
| 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
labours tire; |
| O'er love, o'er fear, extends his
wide domain, |
| 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
power to combine, |
| And one capitulate, and one
resign; |
| Peace courts his hand, but
spreads her charms in vain; |
| 'Think nothing gained,' he cries,
'till nought remain, |
| On Moscow's walls till Gothic
standards fly, |
| And all be mine beneath the polar
sky.' |
| The march begins in military
state, |
| And nations on his eye suspended
wait; |
| Stern Famine guards the solitary
coast, |
| And Winter barricades the realms
of Frost; |
| He comes, not want and cold his
course delay; - |
| Hide, blushing Glory, hide
Pultowa's day: |
| 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? |
| 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; |
| He left the name, at which the
world grew pale, |
To point a moral or adorn a tale.
|
| Samuel Johnson
| Classic Poems |
