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Would seek to scale, his lightnings flew,
And, unchastised, Death's tireless hand
Mowed the thin ranks of that small band.

As comes the avenging god of war
With belt and hammer, angry Thor,
So Axel to the field, where dread
And flight are reigning, hurrieth,
A succoring angel sent in need !
His breast is steel, his arm is death,
The Swedes he rallies ; left and right
He flies upon his courser white.
"Stand, friends ! close up your ranks anew !
From Charles, our king, I come to you,
From his own lips a greeting bring,
Our watchword still, God and the King !"
"God and King Charles !" echoes through all
Their lines ; they heed the hero's call.
The height whence pours that shower of death
Is stormed and taken in a breath,