‘Brother,’ said he to Lauenburg, with a dying voice; ‘I have enough. Look to your own life.’ Falkenberg was immediately slain by the equerry of the duke of Lauenburg. At the same moment the king fell from his horse, struck by several more balls, and was dragged some distance by the stirrups. The duke of Lauenburg fled. Of the king’s two orderlies, one lay dead and the other wounded. Of his attendants, only a German page, named Leubelfing, remained by him. The king having fallen from his horse, the page jumped from his own, and offered it to the dying hero. The king stretched out his hands, but the young man had not strength sufficient to lift him from the ground. Meanwhile the imperial cuirassiers hastened forward, and demanded the name of the wounded officer. The loyal page would not reveal it, and received wounds from which he died soon after. But the dying Gustavus bravely answered, ‘I am the king of Sweden.’ Whereupon his cruel enemies shot a ball through his head, and thrust their swords through his bleeding body. His hat, blackened with the powder and pierced with the ball, is still to be seen in the arsenal at Vienna; his bloody buff coat as well. More is not known of the final agony, except that, when the tide of battle had a little ebbed, the body of the hero-king was found with the face to the ground, despoiled and stripped to the shirt, trodden under the hoofs of horses, trampled in the mire, and disfigured with all these wounds.” [Illustration: DEATH OF GUSTAVUS AND HIS PAGE.] Such was the end of the imposing and kingly bodily presence; but this was not the end of the accomplishment of that heroic soul. When the horse of the fallen Gustavus, with its empty saddle covered with blood, came running amongst the Swedish troops, they knew what had happened to their king. Duke Bernhard, riding through the ranks, exclaimed, “Swedes, Finlanders, and Germans! your defender, the defender of our liberty, is dead. Life is nothing to me if I do not draw bloody vengeance from this misfortune. Whoever wishes to prove he loved the king, has only to follow me to avenge his death.” The whole Swedish army, fired by a common enthusiasm nerved by desperation, advanced to the attack, and so valiantly did they fight, that their gallant charge completed the victory of Lützen. Thus died the “Gold-king of the North”; but his dying hours were gilded by the sunset glories of immortal fame, and the “Snow-king,” of Sweden, leaves a name as pure and glistening as the starry snow-flakes.