His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright! Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose Thine eye but for one moment on the light! Even at the price of thine, give me repose! Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe again; THE GRAVE FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON VOL. IV. F OR thee was a house built Ere thou wast born, For thee was a mould meant Ere thou of mother camest. But it is not made ready, Nor is it seen How long it shall be. 4* Where thou shalt be; Thy house is not Highly timbered, It is unhigh and low; When thou art therein, The heel-ways are low, The side-ways unhigh. Thy breast full nigh, So thou shalt in mould Dwell full cold, Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house, And dark it is within; There thou art fast detained And Death hath the key. Loathsome is that earth-house, And grim within to dwell. There thou shalt dwell, And worms shall divide thee. Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends; Thou hast no friend, Who will come to thee, Who will ever see How that house pleaseth thee; Who will ever open The door for thee, And descend after thee; For soon thou art loathsome And hateful to see. K KING CHRISTIAN A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD ING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast His sword was hammering so fast, Through Gothic helm and brain it passed; "Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can! Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, And smote upon the foe full sore, And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, "Now is the hour!' "Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly! Of Denmark's Juel who can defy The power?" North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent Then champions to thine arms were sent; From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', Path of the Dane to fame and might! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, And amid pleasures and alarms, And war and victory, be thine arms THE HAPPIEST LAND FROM THE GERMAN HERE sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, The landlord's daughter filled their cups, Around the rustic board; Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word. But, when the maid departed, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, "Long live the Swabian land! "The greatest kingdom upon earth With all the stout and hardy men "Ha!” cried a Saxon, laughing, And dashed his beard with wine; "I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine! |