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 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?" |