"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? With merry companions all." "I need not and seek not company, "High over the sails, high over the mast, When thy merry companions are still, at last, I dart away, in the bright blue day, · "Thus do I sing my weary song, THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH. SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! 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 Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again; THE GRAVE. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. FOR thee was a house built For thee was a mould meant Ere thou of mother camest. But it is not made ready, Nor its depth measured, How long it shall be. Now I shall measure thee, Thy house is not Thy breast full nigh, So thou shalt in mould Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house, Loathsome is that earth-house, And worms shall divide thee. Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends; 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. KING CHRISTIAN. A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK.-FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD. KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast In mist and smoke; His sword was hammering so fast, In mist and smoke. "Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can! Who braves of Denmark's Christian The stroke?" Nils Juel27 gave heed to the tempest's roar; He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, 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 Thy murky sky! Then champions to thine arms were sent ; Terror and Death glared where he went; From the waves was heard a wail, that rent Thy murky sky! From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', And fly Path of the Dane to fame and might! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, And amid pleasures and alarms, THE HAPPIEST LAND. THERE sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, The landlord's daughter filled their cups, Then sat they all so calm and still, But, when the maid departed, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, Than that Swabian land of thine! "The goodliest land on all this earth, It is the Saxon land! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand!" "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!” A bold Bohemian cries; "If there's a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies. "There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn." And then the landlord's daughter THE WAVE. FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE. "WHITHER, thou turbid wave? "I am the Wave of Life, THE DEAD. FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK. How they so softly rest, All, all the holy dead, Unto whose dwelling-place Now doth my soul draw near! How they so softly rest, And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still! Here, where all gladness flies! And by the cypresses Until the Angel Calls them, they slumber! WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLer. I HEARD a brooklet gushing From its rocky fountain near, Down into the valley rushing, So fresh and wondrous clear. And ever the brook beside; What do I say of a murmur? That can no murmur be; 'Tis the water-nymphs that are singing Their roundelays under me. Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, The wheels of a mill are going In every brooklet clear. |