For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou,-thou makest the sad heart gay. He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain; And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, When thy merry step draws near. Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, We must cower over the embers low; And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky When thy merry step draws near. THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH. SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed! Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend; 'Tis sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee! His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, 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! Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again; THE GRAVE. The heel-ways are low, 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 grim within to 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. 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, Through Gothic helm and brain it passed; Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, In mist and smoke. "Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can! The stroke?" Nils Juel* gave heed to the tempest's roar, Now is the hour! He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, "Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly! The power?" North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent Thy murky sky! Then champions to thine arms were sent; From the waves was heard a wail, that rent Thy murky sky! From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', Let each to Heaven commend his soul, 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 My grave! Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received the popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thundershield. In childhood he was a tailor's apprentice, and rose to his high rank before the age of twenty-eight, when he was killed in a duel. |