ANTISTROPHE.

The Saxon prince in horror fled

From altars stain'd with human gore;

And Liberty his routed legions led

In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore.

There in a cave asleep she lay,

Lull'd by the hoarse resounding main;

When a bold savage pass'd that way,

Impell'd by destiny, his name Disdain.

Of ample front the portly chief appear'd:

The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest;

The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard,

And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast.

He stopp'd; he gazed; his bosom glow'd,

And deeply felt the impression of her charms;

He seized the advantage Fate allow'd,

And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arms.