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.