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I saw within were many a light,
And guests, and cressets shining bright,
And what should such do there by night?
I instantly arose,

Then swiftly on my robe I threw,
The keys I took, my sabre drew,
I could not sleep within the view
Of unknown friends or foes..

We went, but every coward hand
Refused to lift or bolt, or band,
The fearful Chieftain of the Guards
To fix the key within it's wards;
My Royal arm was forced to try,
For such was then my destiny.
If fiends had marshall'd round the door,
Joy in the rear, and Death before,
Their bribes and terrors had been vain,
I could not have turn'd back again!

We gain'd the Anti-Room at last,
And terror then began to cast
Her chilling power upon my breast;
But well my courage bore the test:
Waving my sword on high, I cried,
"Let those whose valour is their pride
Advance like men, whose daring souls

To guilt and cowardice are strangers;
That heart which fear of God controuls
Will blench not,--though beset with dangers.
For me,-believe no joy that e'er

Inflamed the breast of youthful lover,

Is equal to that hope I bear

These midnight wonders to discover!
Heaven hath a purpose high perchance
Here to reveal, then friends,-advance!

Charles,-Your King leads you,-On with me:*
They trembling cried,- We follow thee."
Within the lock the key was turning,
Within my breast my heart was burning,
The Anti-Room I looked around,
And saw, from cornice to the ground
That sable hangings there were spread,
The livery of the unknown dead,
Who held within my Audience-Hall,
Their most mysterious festival.

The door I open'd:-in the field
My feet were never wont to fly;
But there my fainting soul did yield,

I trembled as my steps drew nigh.
My followers, though they enter'd too,
The thick, short breath of terror drew;
Had it not been for very shame,
They had retired the way they came,
And left the Lord of Sweden's Throne
To brave that midnight host-alone!
We enter'd, and a table wide
Appear'd the Presence-Room inside;
Around the board were seated then
Some sixteen sage and ancient men,
Who long had laid within the grave,
The head once wise, the heart once brave;

They gazed on books, but never stirr'd
To look, or sign, or speak a word;
But like the effigies on tombs

That seem to guard the sacred glooms,
As cold, and lifeless all ;-no sound

Save half-breathed prayers were heard around,
Placed at their head, as chief we deem'd,
Was one who Sovereign o'er them seem'd,
Though, from his youthful face to say,
He had not reach'd to manhood's day';
But he was crown'd, and in his hand
Shone the bright sceptre of command,
While, upon either side, was shown
A councillor for his early throne.

The King bow'd low ;-Oh, mighty God!
Though centuries o'er my head should fly,
What sprang from that young Spectre's nod
Will never leave my memory,

The Sages smote their books,-So Time
Inverts his wasted sand-glass o'er us,
To part his scenes and acts sublime,

And make his visions flit before us.

They smote their books,-and what a change
Was then;-Within the Hall a range
Of sable scaffolds sprang up there,
And headsmen with their weapons bare,
Whose edges many a life devour'd,
And Sweden's nobles lay deflower'd!
I saw their gore, it flowed around
From the high platforms o'er the ground,
Corses with corses seem'd to meet,-
Heaven! is it not around my feet?--
Doth it not stain my sandals now

As when the grave drew back her portal?
It shew'd-by every Saint I vow,

More sad than if it had been mortal,

I shrank with horror from the sight,
My face grew pale, my brain grew light,
And maddening frenzy o'er my soul
Was spreading fast her wild controul.
Mine eyes I raised, and there was shown
Hurl'd to the earth that royal throne,
And one who seem'd the Prince's guide
In manhood's prime stood by it's side:
I shook ;-my trembling knees again
Refused their burthen to sustain,
And till my heart fresh courage strung,
I firmly to a pillar clung.

Ulrica, thou may'st well suppose
These visions all my senses froze,
More than ten thousand mortal foes;

But then aloud I cried,

O God! let me thy mandate hear,
Aid me to burst the spells of fear,
And though the foulest fiends were near,
Thy voice shall be my guide!'

No answer came:-'twas silence all,
Save the loud echoes of the Hall,

Which then my fervent speech awoke,
And that solemnity had broke.

Again I call'd:-but as before

It's echoes swept the chamber o'er,

But not one word of peace there came
To quench my burning bosom's flame,
Or give my panting sou! the power
To solve the mysteries of that hour.
Thus thrice I raised my voice on high,
Thrice did it's mournful accents die
In silence awful, drear, and deep,
As the cold tomb's eternal sleep;
Save that the Spectre-King again
His head bow'd low, his ghostly train
Smote on those books whose mystic lore
Was placed their lifeless eyes before.
At length my voice, my soul, and heart,
By all those fearful scenes excited,
Thus waked to life with sudden start,

And more than mortal power united! "Father of Heaven! look down on me, Aid me to learn my destiny;

And to my wand'ring senses shew
The path in which my feet should go.'
I spake; and from that breathless thing
Which mock'd in death a living king,
These words unto my startled ear
Explain'd that wondrous scene of fear.

'Be calm, and mark what Heaven shall say; Not in thy regal hour and day,

Shall this, which thou with mortal sight
Hast seen before it rise to light,

Not in thy time shall this be known,

But when five Kings have fill'd the throne.
The sixth shall find the vision true,
Which Heaven hath here unveil'd to you!
Look on my face, and know in me,
As mirror of futurity,

The form of him,-in whose sad reign
These scenes shall be display'd again;
Yet differing thus:-We are but air,
But living actors shall be there!
Thus shall his throne decay :-yet rise
More glorious o'er his enemies:
For he, whose once rebellious hand

Withstood the Sovereign of his land,

Shewn by that Sprite who seems beside

The fallen regal seat to glide,

Shall staunch the kingdom's bleeding breast,

Rear up again her drooping crest,

And gild her Fame, these griefs to quell,

Brighter than 'twas before it fell!

Yet ere around that woe-worn head

A peaceful crown shall glory spread,

Blood shall through Sweden pour like water;

For such a tide of Death and slaughter

Was ne'er within the land before,

And after, never shall be more!

The morn is nearest, when the cloud

Of night hath spread her darkest shroud;

For when those days have glided by

That long shall live in memory,
Joy, peace, and long-extended life,
Shall bless the King, and end the strife.
Farewell!-and bear upon thy mind,

These sights have been by Heaven design'd

To teach thee, ere thy life decays,
To warn thy sons of future days;
And leave the words that now are told
For after Monarchs to behold.'

As through the shades of winter night
The tempest darts it's livid light,
One moment thus the scene illumes,
Then leaves it wrapt in deepest glooms;
So every cresset flame that glow'd,
And all the ghostly radiance show'd,
Were gone!-and darkness most profound,
Save our few torches, veil'd us round!
All seem'd as if there nought had been
But what we oft before had view'd,
Yet though mine eyes such sights had seen,
I felt oppress'd by solitude.

And, even now, I know not why,

I wept that lost society:

For it had given new feelings birth,

And I could scarce descend to carth!
Thus, my Ulrica, have I said,

What pass'd upon that night of dread;
"Tis written all I look'd on there,

It still before mine eyes is set;

And midnight hears my fervent prayer,

Oh God! assist me to forget!""



The King's Vision. The foregoing Poem is a metrical version of a part of the history of Charles XI. King of Sweden; and the vision which it relates was beheld by that Sovereign on the night of December 16th, 1676.

by Queen Ulrica's side. Ulrica Eleonora, daughter of Frederick III. King of Denmark; she was married to Charles, on the 26th November, 1679, and died on March the 26th, 1693. She was the mother of the celebrated Charles XII.

The sixth shall find that vision true. The line of Sovereigns here alluded to, is as follows. Charles XI. died on April 5th, 1697: Charles XII. reigned from 1697 to 1718: Frederick and Ulrica, reigned from 1718 to 1750: Adolphus Frederick, reigned from 1751 to 1770: and Gustavus III. reigned from 1771, till March 15th, 1792: when he was shot by Ankerstroem. He was succeeded by Gustavus IV. the sixth King, who being then only fourteen, was placed under the sole regency of his uncle Charles, the Duke of Suderomania, until he should reach his 18th year. These were the Young Spectre-King, and one of his Councillors, who was to restore the prosperity of the throne. On the 13th March 1809, after the dreadful afflictions of sword and pestilence had ravaged Sweden, the King was deposed, and the Crown assumed by the Regent, then Charles XIII.

'Tis written all I looked on there. A particular account of this Vision was drawn up and signed by the King and his attendants, immediately on their return from witnessing it. The original, in the hand-writing of Charles, is preserved sealed up; but it is opened and read on the accession of every Monarch, after which it is again sealed up. Beside the King's signature, there appear to it those of A. W. Bjelke, Councillor of State, and Chancellor of the Kingdom; Ch. Bjelke, Senator; Brahe, Senator; Áx. Oxenstiern, Councillor of State and Senator; and Peter Granslin, or Grumsten, Quarter Master in Chief of the Royal Guard, or, as some call him, Usher. The King's own relation has frequently been referred to in many traditions during the last century; and has been printed at length in "A Journal of Travels in Sweden, Russia, Poland, &c. during the Years 1813 and 1814." By the Rev. J. T. James, of Christ Church, Oxford, 1816, 4to. mentioned in the Quarterly Review, Vol. 15, 1816, p. 511-526; and also noticed in the New Monthly Magazine for September 1819, page 24.


MODERN mathematicians, who gravely tell us their science is the sole and indispensable basis of all others, would be ill pleased if told that my Art of Consoling stands on principles as universal and necessary as their's. It has, as those learned gentlemen say, both it's Theory and it's Techny; and the four ages of human life may be tolerably well compared to the four great schools or stages of mathematic science. In childhood we learn matters only in the "Abstract;"-in youth, "distinct and general facts;" -in middle life, "the products ;"and in advanced age, "the continual fractions." And though professors of the Consoling Art cannot shew amongst them such great names as Cardan, Bombelli, Leibnitz, and Legrange, it is probable, that even these wise men and their predecessors, Thales and Pythagoras, owed their perseverance in study to the excellent Art of Consoling, as practised by some members of their families.

The characters on which this art is practicable may be divided, like the matter recognized by mathematicians, into the fluid and the solid; and distinguished, as they say, by the same difference: that is, the particles of the solid have the power of resisting, and those of the fluid are governed by the moving forces round them. Thus the two great divisions of the spiritual and material world are characterised in the same manner.

My first experiment, as I have shewn, was on the fluid character of a very gentle young woman; the next happened to be on the solid one of a substantial-headed country - gentleman, who found my moving force quite sufficient. People in the country are the finest subjects of our science; for as the spirits are apt to mount and flutter about there, it is very easy and kind to rub the gold dust and gaycoloured down off their butterflywings, lest they should be too much envied. If one has a farm, it is comforting to hear that nobody wonders at it's ill success; if one has none, people console us by saying we have nothing to do. If we open our doors to entertain all the neighbourhood, they console us for our trouble by laughing at

it; if we see few or nobody, some goodnatured friend must give us comfort by hinting we don't know the worst. My way of consolation when I left a friendly set of country neighbours, was to send a civil farewellbillet to every house, taking care that each person, when he or she opened it, should find it addressed to the next door. Thus the Lady Glowrowrum of the village received a note of thanks written to Lady Bluemantle, with compliments for her witty anecdotes of her dear Lady G-, and Lady Bluemantle, vice-versa, read one meant for Lady Glowrowrum. My brother, fearing to offend any of his neighbours, invited every one to a splendid ball, not omitting his pastry-cook, his chandler, or his gardener. Every body looked magnificent, some very vastly astonished, others immeasurably dignified; but all were so well consoled by a most gorgeous supper, that they came three times again in one season to be shocked and comforted at his expense.

Every body has heard of the quicksands and squalls which render the passage dangerous from the Isle of Man to Cork, but every body does not remember the Manxmen's notion, that a vessel is sure of shipwreck if she sails after a dumb man has crossed her deck, and marked her mast with chalk. My brother, Sir Phelim Quackenboss, had affairs at his estate near Liscarrol, and by way of consoling him for the trouble they threatened to give him, I chose to be his companion. But a dumb woman suddenly came on board our vessel, and made attempts to write upon the mast. My screams, and the superstition of the sailors, caused her to be forcibly dragged from the deck, and almost hurled into the boat which had brought her. The captain would have given his unwelcome visitor alms, and protested she was a harmless beggar whose motive for intrusion he could not guess. However, his brig stranded near the cove of Cork, and the crew consoled themselves with reminding each other that the dumb sybil might have prevented it. I mention this last particular as a proof how naturally my Art of Consolation is adapted to all classes.

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