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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! Even at the price of thine, give me repose!

Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again;Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! O! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,

Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?

THE GRAVE.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.

FOR thee was a house built

Ere thou wert born,

For thee was a mould meant

Ere thou of mother camest.

But it is not made ready,

Nor its depth measured,

Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.

Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;

Now I shall measure thee,

And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not

Highly timbered,

It is unhigh and low;

When thou art therein,

The heel-ways are low,

The side-ways unhigh.

The roof is built

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.

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 !

Who braves of Denmark's Christian

The stroke?"

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