“The lions ramping on that shield between the hearts aflame, Keep watch o'er Denmark's honour, and guard her ancient name; Few know that I am Volmer; I dwell in yonder towers, Who ploughs them ploughs up Denmark, this goodly home of ours! "I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart I know is true, Would God that all our maidens were good and pure as you! Well have you pleased your monarch, and he shall well repay; God's peace! Farewell! To-morrow will bring another day!" He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred his good steed then, And like a whirl-blast swept away with all his gallant men. The steel hoofs beat the rocky path; again on winds of morn The wood resounds with the cry of hounds and blare of hunter's horn. "Thou true and ever faithful!" the listening Henrik cried ; And, leaping o'er the green hedge, he stood by Elsie's side. None saw the fond embracing, save, shining from afar, The Golden Goose that watched them from the tower of Valdemar. Oh, darling girls of Denmark! of all the flowers that throng, Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing for you my song. No praise as yours so bravely rewards the singer's skill; Thank God! of maids like Elsie the land has plentystill! Whittier (after the Danish of C. Winter). SHE CAME AND WENT. S a twig trembles, which a bird As clasps some lake by gusts unriven, As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps An angel stood and met my gaze, Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, Lowell. LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. N OW nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, But nocht can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bower, Now blooms the lily on the bank, I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Fa' lightly raise I in the morn, And I'm the Sovereign of Scotland, But as for thee, thou false woman! Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword The weeping blood in woman's breast Nor th' balm that droops on wounds of woe My son! my son! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee from thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend Oh! soon to me may summer suns And in the narrow house o' death And the next flowers that deck the spring, Burns. TO THE CUCKOO. AIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! H Thou messenger of spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, What time the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee The schoolboy wandering through the wood Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest the vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! Logan. |