University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Inside of the Copper-Mines in Dalecarlia.
Enter Anderson, Arnoldus, and Servants, with Torches.
And.
You tell me Wonders.

Arn.
Soft, behold, my Lord,
[Points behind the Scenes.
Behold him stretch'd, where reigns eternal Night,
The Flint his Pillow, and cold Damps his Cov'ring;
Yet bold of Spirit, and robust of Limb,
He throws Inclemency aside, nor feels
The Lot of human Frailty.

And.
What Horrors hang around! the savage Race
Ne'er hold their Den but where some glimm'ring Ray
May bring the Chear 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 wond'rous Treasure, lodg'd 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,
And make him half myself.

Arn.
'Tis nobly promis'd;
For Worth is rare, and wants a Friend in Sweden;
And yet I tell thee, in her Age of Heroes,
When nurs'd by Freedom, all her Sons grew great,
And ev'ry Peasant was a Prince in Virtue;
I greatly err, or this abandon'd Stranger
Had stepp'd the first for Fame—tho' now he seeks
To veil his Name, and cloud his Shine of Virtues;
For there is Danger in them.

And.
True, Arnoldus,
Were there a Prince throughout the scepter'd Globe,
Who search'd out Merit for its due Preferment,
With half that Care our Tyrant seeks it out
For Ruin; happy, happy were that State,
Beyond the golden Fable of those pure
And earliest Ages—Wherefore this, good Heav'n?
Is it of Fate, that who assumes a Crown
Throws off Humanity?

Arn.
So Cristiern holds.
He claims our Country as by Right of Conquest,
A Right to ev'ry Wrong. Ev'n now 'tis said,
The Tyrant envies what our Mountains yield
Of Health or Aliment, he comes upon us,
Attended by a num'rous Host, to seize
These last Retreats of our expiring Liberty.

And.
Say'st thou?

Arn.
This rising Day, this instant Hour,
Thus chaced, we stand upon the utmost Brink
Of steep Perdition, and must leap the Precipice,
Or turn upon our Hunters,

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 brow'd Evening 'ere the Thunder break;
For soon he made it toilsom to our Eyes
To mark his Speed, and trace the Paths of Conquest;
In vain we follow'd, where he swept the Field;
'Twas Death alone could wait upon Gustavus.

Arn.
He was indeed whate'er our Wish could form him.

And.
Array'd and beauteous in the Blood of Danes,
Th' Invaders of his Country, thrice he chaced
This Cristiern, this fell Conq'rer, 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 dar'd to break thro' ev'ry Law
That sanctifies the Nations, seiz'd our Hero,
The Pledge of specious Treaty, tore him from us,
And led him chain'd to Denmark.

And.
Then we fell.
If still he lives, we yet may learn to rise,
But never can I dare to rest a Hope
On any Arm but his.

Arn.
And yet I trust,
This Stranger that delights to dwell with Darkness
Unknown, unfriended, compass'd round with Wretchedness,
Conceals some mighty Purpose in his Breast,
Now lab'ring into Birth.

And.
When came he hither?

Arn.
Six Moons have chang'd upon the Face of Night,
Since here he first arriv'd, in servile Weeds,
But yet of Mein majestic. I observ'd him,
And ever as I gaz'd, some nameless Charm,
A wond'rous Greatness not to be conceal'd,
Broke thro' his Form, and aw'd my Soul before him.
Amid these Mines he earns the Hireling's Portion;
His Hands out-toil the Hind, while on his Brow
Sits Patience, bathed in the laborious Drop
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 Utt'rance; 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 betray'd
The Labours of his Soul, some fav'rite Grief,
Whereon to raise Conjecture?

Arn.
I saw, as some bold Peasants late deplor'd
Their Country's Bondage, sudden Passion seiz'd
And bore him from his Seeming; strait his Form
Was turn'd to Terror, Ruin fill'd his Eye,
And his proud Step appear'd to awe the World:
When check'd as thro' an Impotence of Rage,
Damp Sadness soon usurp'd upon his Brow,
And the big Tear roll'd graceful down his Visage.

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 pronounc'd the hated Name
Of—Bloody Cristiern—there he seem'd to pause:
And recollected to one Voice, he cry'd,
O Sweden! O my Country! Yet I'll save thee.

And.
Forbear—he rises—Heav'ns, what Majesty!

SCENE II.

Enter Gustavus.
And.
Your Pardon, Stranger, if the Voice of Virtue,
If cordial Amity from Man to Man,
And somewhat that should whisper to the Soul,
To seek and chear the Suff'rer, led me hither
Impatient to salute thee. Be it thine
Alone to point the Path of Friendship out;
And my best Pow'r shall wait upon thy Fortunes.

Gust.
Yes, gen'rous Man! there is a wond'rous Test,
The truest, worthiest, noblest Cause for Friendship;
Dearer than Life, than Int'rest, 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 fall'n—nor has a Life
Been spar'd, but for Dishonour; spar'd to breed
More Slaves for Denmark, to beget a Race
Of new-born Virgins for th' unsated 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 speechless;
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 drench'd the hospitable Floor with Blood;
Then fell the Flow'r of Sweden, mighty Names!
Her hoary Senators, and gasping Patriots.
The Tyrant spoke, and his licentious Band
Of Blood-train'd Ministry were loosed to Ruin.
Invention wanton'd in the Toil of Infants
Stabb'd 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 Heav'n and Earth! Is there a Cause for this?
For Sin without Temptation, calm, cool Villany,
Delib'rate Mischief, unimpassion'd 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'st greatly mov'd 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 fall'n Snow,
Where the first Beam may melt it from Observance.
Vengeance on Cristiern! Norway and the Dane,
The Sons of Sweden, all the peopled North
Bends at his Nod: my humbler Boast of Pow'r
Meant not to cope with Crowns.

Gust.
Then what remains
Is briefly this; your Friendship has my Thanks,
But must not my Acceptance: never—no—
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 enjoy'd beneath a Tyrant's Sceptre;
No, that were willful Slav'ry—Freedom is
The brillant Gift of Heav'n, '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 Pow'r whose Engines are of Force
To bend the brave and virtuous Man to Slav'ry?
Base Fear, the Laziness of Lust, gross Appetites,
These are the Ladders, and the groveling Footstool,
From whence the Tyrant rises on our Wrongs,
Secure and scepter'd in the Soul's Servility.
He has debauch'd the Genius of our Country,
And rides triumphant, while her captive Sons
Await his Nod, the silken Slaves of Pleasure,
Or fetter'd in their Fears.

And.
I apprehend you.
No doubt, a base Submission to our Wrongs
May well be term'd a voluntary Bondage;
But think the heavy Hand of Pow'r is on us;
Of Pow'r, 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 propos'd—I were a Slave indeed.
No—in the deep and deadly Damp of Dungeons
The Soul can rear her Sceptre, smile in Anguish,
And triumph o'er Oppression.

And.
O glorious Spirit! think not I am slack
To relish what thy noble Scope intends,
But then the Means! the Peril! and the Consequence!
Great are the Odds, and who shall dare the Trial?

Gust.
I dare.
O wer't thou still that gallant Chief
Whom once I knew! I cou'd unfold a Purpose
Would make the Greatness of thy Heart to swell,
And burst in the Conception.

And.
Give it Utt'rance.
Perhaps there lie some Embers yet in Sweden,
Which, waken'd by thy Breath, might rise in Flames,
And spread vindictive round—You say you know me;
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 alarm'd 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! Heav'n's! 'Tis he! 'tis he himself!

SCENE III.

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 neighb'ring 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 Pow'rs! it is Gustavus.

Gust.
Thou Brother of Adoption! In the Bond
Of ev'ry Virtue wedded to my Soul,
Enter my Heart, it is thy Property.

Arv.
I'm lost in Joy and wond'rous Circumstance.

Gust.
Yes, 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 escap'd 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 Enterprize has been conceiv'd,
And thou art come auspicious to the Birth,
As sent to fix the Seal of Heav'n 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.
By all—

Gust.
No, hold—if we want Oaths to join us,
Swift let us part, from Pole to Pole asunder.
A Cause like ours is its own Sacrament;
Truth, Justice, Reason, Love, and Liberty,
Th' eternal Links that clasp the World are in it,
And he, who breaks their Sanction, breaks all Law,
And infinite Connection.

Arn.
True, my Lord.

And.
And such the Force I feel.

Arv.
And I.

Arn.
And all.

Gust.
Know then, that 'ere our royal Stenon fell,
While this my valiant Cousin and myself,
By Chains and Treach'ry, lay detain'd in Denmark,
Upon a dark and unsuspected Hour
The bloody Cristiern sought to take my Head.
Thanks to the ruling Pow'r! within whose Eye
Imbosom'd Ills and mighty Treasons roll,
Prevented of their Blackness—I escap'd,
Led by a gen'rous Arm, and some time lay
Conceal'd 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 Pow'r to hem the Desp'rate? I o'erpass'd them,
Travers'd all Sweden, thro' Ten thousand Foes,
Impending Perils, and surrounding Tongues,
That from himself enquir'd Gustavus out.
Witness my Country, how I toil'd to wake
Thy Sons to Liberty! In vain—for Fear,
Cold Fear had seiz'd on all—Here last I came,
And shut me from the Sun, whose hateful Beams
Serv'd 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 Dalecarlians
Have oft been known to give a Law to Kings;
And as their only Wealth has been their Liberty,
From all th' unmeasur'd Graspings of Ambition
Have held that Gem untouch'd—tho' now 'tis fear'd—

Gust.
It is not fear'd—I say they still shall hold it.
I've search'd these Men, and find them like the Soil,
Barren without, and to the Eye unlovely,
But they've their Mines within; and this the Day
In which I mean to prove them.

Arn.
O Gustavus!
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 thro' Death to reach Eternity.
This Day return'd with ev'ry circling Year,
In Thousands pours the Mountain Peasants forth,
Each with his batter'd Arms and rusty Helm,
In sportive Discipline well train'd, and prompt
Against the Day of Peril—thus disguis'd,
Already have I stirr'd their latent Sparks
Of slumb'ring Virtue, apt as I cou'd wish
To warm before the lightest Breath of Liberty.

Arn.
How will they kindle when confess'd to View
Once more their lov'd Gustavus stands before them,
And pours his Blaze of Virtues on their Souls.

Arv.
It cannot fail.

And.
It has a glorious Aspect.

Arv.
Now Sweden! rise and re-assert thy Rights,
Or be for ever fall'n.

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 join'd 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 shou'd the Tyrant then attempt our Heights,
He comes upon his Fate—Arise thou Sun!
Haste, haste to rouze thee to the Call of Liberty,
That shall once more salute thy Morning Beam,
And hail thee to thy Setting.

Arn.
O bless'd Voice!
Prolong that Note but one short Day thro' Sweden,
And tho' the Sun and Life should set together,
It matters not—we shall have liv'd that Day.

Arv.
Were it not worth the Hazard of a Life
To know if Cristiern leads his Pow'rs in Person,
And what his Scope intends? Be mine that Task,
Ev'n to the Tyrant's Tent I'll win my Way,
And mingle with his Councils.

Gust.
Go, my Friend.
Dear as thou art, whene'er our Country calls,
Friends, Sons, and Sires should yield their Treasure up,
Nor own a Sense beyond the publick Safety.
But tell me, my Arvida, 'ere thou goest,
Tell me what Hand has made thy Friend its Debtor,
And giv'n thee up to Freedom and Gustavus?

Arv.
Ha! let me think of that, 'tis sure she loves him.
[Aside.
Away thou skance and jaundice Eye of Jealousy,
That tempts my Soul to sicken at Perfection;
Away! I will unfold it—To thyself
Arvida owes his Freedom.

Gust.
How, my Friend?

Arv.
Some Months are pass'd since in the Danish Dungeon
With Care emaciate, and unwholsome Damps
Sick'ning I lay, chain'd to my flinty Bed,
And call'd on Death to ease me—strait a Light
Shone round, as when the Ministry of Heav'n
Descends to kneeling Saints. But O! the Form
That pour'd upon my Sight—Ye Angels speak!
For ye alone are like her; or present
Such Visions pictur'd to the nightly Eye
Of Fancy trans'd in Bliss. She then approach'd,
The softest Pattern of embodied Meekness,
For Pity had divinely touch'd her Eye,
And harmoniz'd her Motions—Ah, she cry'd,
Unhappy Stranger, art not thou the Man
Whose Virtues have endear'd thee to Gustavus?

Gust.
Gustavus did she say?

Arv.
Yes, yes, her Lips
Breath'd forth that Name with a peculiar Sweetness.
Loos'd from my Bonds, I rose, at her Command,
When, scarce recov'ring Speech, I would have kneel'd,
But haste thee, haste thee for thy Life, she cry'd;
And O, if e'er thy envied Eyes behold
Thy lov'd Gustavus; say, a gentle Foe
Has giv'n thee to his Friendship.

Gust.
You've much amaz'd me! Is her Name a Secret?

Arv.
To me it is—but you perhaps may guess.

Gust.
No, on my Word.

Arv.
You too had your Deliv'rer.

Gust.
A kind, but not a fair one—Well, my Friends!
Our Cause is ripe, and calls us forth to Action.
Tread ye not lighter? Swells not ev'ry Breast
With ampler Scope to take your Country in,
And breathe the Cause of Virtue? Rise, ye Swedes!
Rise greatly equal to this Hour's Importance.
On us the Eyes of future Ages wait,
And this Day's Arm strikes forth decisive Fate;
This Day, that shall for ever sink—or save;
And make each Swede a Monarch—or a Slave.