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Path of the Dane to fame and might!
Receive thy friend, who, seeming flight,
Goes to meet danger with despite ,
Proudly as thou the tempest’s might,
And amid pleasures and alarms,
And war and victory, be thine arms
, THE HAPPIEST LAND. FRAGMENT or A MODERN BALLAD. FROM THE GERMAN
THERE sat one day in quiet,
The landlord’s daughter filled their cups,
Then sat they all so calm and still,
But, when the maid departed,
And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
*' Nlls Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder Wessel, a
Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received the popular title of Tordensklold, or Thunder-shield. 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
“The greatest kingdom upon earth
With all the stout and hardy men
“Ha!” cried a Saxon, laughing, -—
“The goodliest land on all this earth,
There have I as many maidens
“Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!’
“If there ’s a heaven upon this earth ,
And then the landlord’s daughter
And said, “Ye may no more contend, --
THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.
FROM THE GERMAN 0r uiT'LLan.
“THE rivers rush into the sea,
The Winds behind them merrily
“The clouds are passing far and high,
And every thing, that can sing and fly,
“I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,
“I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea
“Full and swollen is every sail;
I have trusted all to the sounding gale ,
“And Wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
“I need not and seek not company,
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
“High over the sails, high over the mast,
\Vhen thy merry companions are still, at last,
“Vl’ho neither may rest, nor listen may,
‘ God bless them every one!
I dart away, in the bright blue day,
“Thus do I sing my weary song,
And this same song, my whole life long,
I HEARD a brooklet gushing
Down into the valley rushing,
I know not what came o’er me ,
Is this the way I was going?
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur,
What do I say ofa murmur?
’T is the water-nymphs, that are singing
Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,
The wheels of a mill are going