s on the sparkling wine.
Here sat the chiefs, in stormy war renown'd,
Or with the senate's peaceful honours crown'd
On various themes their mingled converse ran,
'Till Trollio to the monarch thus began.

"Your nice experience, prince, and art combined,
Famed thro' the north, long charmed my wondering mind:
This morn, I deem'd it lost; and scarce believ'd
Th' unwonted words my doubtful ear receiv'd.
Can then a mighty monarch eye with fear
The feeble motions of the mountaineer?
Is Christiern dazzled with the empty boast
Of Dalecarlia, and her rugged host?
A fiery race, undisciplined and loud,
They move to war, no army, but a crowd:
Hot from the bowl they stagger to the fight,
And rush impetuous with ungovern'd might.
Shall such resist us? I expect as soon
A midnight rainbow, or a star at noon.
Their quickly muster'd force will quickly yield,
And quit in momentary flight the field.
Or if some deep-mouth'd demagogue should blow
The flame of war, and bid its fury glow,
Yet well-told fiction and inventive art
With milder force can turn the vulgar heart.
Rais'd by a breath their swelling clamours rise,
And with a breath their vain opinion dies."
He spoke; attention sat on every eye,
And all in silence watch'd their king's reply.

"Sees not my Trollio thro' the thin disguise,
Form'd only to deceive Ernestus' eyes?
Vers'd in the changeful temper of mankind,
From day to day I watch'd his varying mind;
I saw, where'er he roved, unsettled thought
In his weak mind a storm of passion wrought;
At length, this morn, he cast a scowling eye
Upon his prince, and pass'd disdainful by.
This theme, I knew, the moody youth would fire,
And rouse to rage his long collected ire.
Enough of this; a weightier care demands
Our keen reflection, and our active hands.
While here we feast, increasing dangers lower,
And artful Frederic shakes my tottering power.
Impatient of their lawful monarch's sway
Full twenty towns sedition's flag display.
Th' ambitious brother of my martial sire
In every bosom fans the growing fire:
His throne he rais'd on Jutland's faithless coast,
Thence o'er the country spread his factious host.
Each day, each hour, the ripening tumult grows,
And discord's torch with added fuel glows.
Ev'n now, perhaps, their