My prowess, tried in hour of need,
Alike with maiden fair shall speed.

With golden ring in Russia's land
To me the virgin plights her hand.

Eight feats I ken; the sportive game,
The war array, the fabrile art;
With fearless breast the waves I stem;

I press the steed; I cast the dart;
O'er ice on slippery skates I glide;
My dexterous oar defies the tide.

With golden ring in Russia's land
To me the virgin plights her hand.

Let blooming maid and widow say,
Mid proud Byzantium's southern walls,
What deeds we wrought at dawn of day!

What falchions sounded through their halls! What blood distain'd each weighty spear! Those feats are famous far and near!

With golden ring in Russia's land
To me the virgin plights her hand.

Where snow-clad uplands rear their head,
My breath I drew mid bowmen strong;
But now my bark, the peasant's dread,
Kisses the sea its rocks among.
Midst barren isles, where ocean foam'd,
Far from the tread of man I roam'd.

With golden ring in Russia's land
To me the virgin plights her hand..

HON. W. HERBERT.

VOL. VI.

HH

ELVER'S HOH.

FROM THE DANISH.

THE knight laid his head upon Elver's Hoh,
Soft slumbers his senses beguiling;

Fatigue press'd its seal on his eyelids, when lo!
Two maidens drew near to him, smiling;
The one she kiss'd softly Sir Algamore's eyes;
The other she whisper'd him sweetly,—
Arise! thou gallant young warrior, arise,
For the dance it goes gaily and featly!
'Arise, thou gallant young warrior, arise,
And dance with us now and for ever!
My damsels with music thine ear shall surprise,
And sweeter a mortal heard never.'-

Then straight of young maidens appear'd a fair
Who their voices in harmony raising, [throng,
The winds they were still as the sounds flew along,
By silence their melody praising.

The winds they were still as the sounds flew along;
The wolf howl'd no more from the mountains;
The rivers were mute upon hearing the song,
And calm'd the loud rush of their fountains:
The fish as they swam in the water so clear,
To the soft sounds delighted attended, [hear,
And nightingales, charm'd the sweet accents to
Their notes with the melody blended.—
'Now hear me, thou gallant young warrior, now

If thou wilt partake of our pleasure, [hear! We'll teach thee to draw the pale moon from her sphere.

We'll show thee the sorcerer's treasure;

We'll teach thee the Runic rhyme, teach thee to The wild bear in magical fetters; [hold To charm the red dragon, who broods over gold, And tame him by mystical letters.'

Now hither,now thither, then danced the gay band, By witchcraft the hero surprising,

Who ever sat silent, his sword in his hand,

Their sports and their pleasures despising.
'Now hear me, thou gallant young warrior, now
If still thou disdain'st what we proffer, [hear!
With dagger and knife from thy breast will we tear
Thine heart, which refuses our offer!'

Oh! glad was the knight when he heard the cock
His enemies trembled, and left him : [crow:
Else must he have stay'd upon Elver's Hoh,
And the witches of life had bereft him.
Beware then, ye warriors, returning by night

From court, dress'd in gold and in silver; Beware how you slumber on Elver's rough height, Beware of the witches of Elver!

M. G. LEWIS.

TO SPRING.

FROM THE DANISH OF THAARUP.

THY beams are sweet, beloved Spring!
The winter shades before thee fly;
The boughs smile green, the young birds sing,
The chainless current glitters by;

Till countless flowers, like stars, illume
The deepening vale and forest gloom.

>Oh! welcome, gentle guest from high,
Sent to cheer our world below,
To lighten sorrow's faded eye,

To kindle nature's social glow;
Oh! he is o'er his fellows bless'd,
Who feels thee in a guiltless breast.

Peace to the generous heart, essaying
With deeds of love to win our praise!
He smiles the spring of life essaying,

Nor fears her cold and wintry days.
To his high goal, with triumph bright,
The calm years waft him in their flight.
Thou glorious goal! that shinest afar,

And seem'st to smile us on our way;
Bright is the hope that crowns our war,
The dawn blush of eternal day:

There shall we meet, this dark world o'er,
And mix in love for evermore.

W. S. WALKER.

ON FORTITUDE.

FROM THE DANISH OF MALLING.

SWEETER to sing to the wild blast that chills me,
Harden'd with toil and with cold,

Than list to the fountain, whose melody stills me,
Floating in odours and gold!

Oh! the full glow of the fetterless spirit
Dwells not with luxury's slave;

Patience and courage alone can inherit
That portion of God to the brave!

Tell us, ye children of wisdom, who measure
The actions of man and his might,

Tell us, was earth won by day-dreams of pleasure, Or battles and watchings of night?

Tell us, did sylphs shield the valiant from ruin ?
Did siren songs lull their repose?

No, the proud soul, sacred glory pursuing,
Steer'd by its polestar through woes.

Planted by Valour, and waved against Fortune,
Rome's flag wrapp'd the world in its shade;
Even the rude North, with its ample folds sporting,
Paused as he view'd it display'd;

But when the slow moth of luxury, stealing,
Wasted its strength to decay,

[ing,

Tempests less fierce than the northern wind, pealBlew its bright ruins away.

Fly then, soft maxims, on swift sailing pinions,
Fly to the land of the slave!

We will not flutter, like air's purple minions,
Ours is the strife of the brave!

Sweeter to sing to the wild blast that chills me,
Harden'd with toil and with cold,

Than list to the fountain, whose melody stills me, Floating in odours and gold.

W. S. WALKER.

TO A GIRL BELOVED.

FROM THE DANISH OF INGEMAN.

WHAT is it, dear maid, that enraptures me so? What holds my fond heart in a chain of control? Can the fragile attire of thy spirit below

Be match'd with the glories that beam in thy soul?