« ForrigeFortsæt »
She listened—'twas the wind's low moan,
'Twas the ripple of the wave,
As it started from its cave.
“ I know each fearful spell
Of the ancient Runic lay,
The tempest to obey.
By magic sign or song,
By love,—the deep, the strong !
sighs, Come to me from the ocean's dead-by the vows we
Again she gaz’d with an eager glance,
Wandering and wildly bright ;-
To the arrowy northern light,
“ By the slow and struggling death
Of hope that loath'd to part,
Of despair on youth's high heart ;
To the mantle of the night,
Nought lovely to the sight,
grief and fear, Come to me from the ocean's dead-awake, arise, ap
Was it her yearning spirit's dream,
Or did a pale form rise,
With bright, still, mournful eyes?
“ Have the depths heard they have !
My voice prevails—thou’rt there,
Oh! thou that wert so fair !
Yet take me to thy rest!
There dwells no fear with love ;
While the billow rolls above!
ones have their home, We will sleep among the ocean's dead-stay for me,
stay SI come !"
There was a sullen plunge below,
A flashing on the main,
Shut-and grew still again.
Der rasche Kampf verewigt einen Mann:
WARRIOR! whose image on thy tomb,
With shield and crested head, Sleeps proudly in the purple gloom
By the stain'd window shed; The records of thy name and race
Have faded from the stone, Yet, through a cloud of years I trace
What thou hast been and done.
A banner, from its flashing spear
Flung out o'er many a fight,
And strong to turn the flight;
On for the holy shrine ;
Chief! were not these things thine ?
A lofty place where leaders sate
Around the council-board ; In festive halls a chair of state
When the blood-red wine was pour’d; A name that drew a prouder tone
From herald, harp, and bard; Surely these things were all thine own,
So hadst thou thy reward.
Woman ! whose sculptur'd form at rest
By the arm'd knight is laid,