Romantic Ballads Part 14

UNIVERSAL CHORUS.

We love, we all love thee, beneficent Peace, &c.

SOLO.

Like the wave of the wild North main, Foaming and frothing came on our foe; Proud of his triumphs, proud of his train, He thought to lay us low: But, from Denmark's lines of oak, A horrible, horrible volley outbroke; Then tumbled his mast, His courage fell fast; And the wave, which resembled his furious mood, Was now with his blood embrued.

CHORUS.

This is Denmark's holyday; Dance, ye maidens!

Sing, ye men!

Tune, ye harpers!

Blush, ye heroes!

This is Denmark's holyday.

A VOICE.

But, hark! what sobbing and what mournful notes Are mixing with our hymns of ardent joy!

Hush, hush, be still; A band of white-rob'd maids approaches slow, With lily chaplets round their yellow locks, With heavy tear-drops in their sunken eye; Broken and trembling sounds The melancholy song, Accompanied by harp-tones rising mild.

YOUTHFUL MAIDENS.

Love, with rosy fetter, Held us firmly bound; Pure unmix'd enjoyment Grateful here we found.

Bosom, bosom meeting, 'Gainst our youths we press'd; Bright the moon arose, then, Glad to see us blest.

Denmark's honour beckon'd, Loud the canon roar'd; Perish'd in the battle They whom we ador'd.

Sweet is, grave, thy slumber, Free from care and noise; Short are earthly sorrows,-- Endless heaven's joys.

SUDDEN CHORUS OF THE SLAIN WARRIORS IS HEARD FROM ON HIGH.

From the heavenly, clear, invisible, home Our voices come: No joy can resemble the joy which reigns In our seraph veins.

Lov'd ones, lov'd ones, weep for us not, Soon shall ye here partake of our lot; High o'er the stars' extremest line The sun of affection more bright shall s.h.i.+ne: Brothers, brothers, 't is sweet to die For the land of our birth, and the maid of our eye.

Blest are ye who like us shall fall; The righteous Jehovah rewards, above, Courage and love: Hallelujah, peace be with you all!

THE HAIL-STORM.

FROM THE NORSE.

Sigvald Jarl was a famous Sea Rover, who, when unengaged in his predatory expeditions, resided at Jomsborg, in Denmark. He was the terror of the Norwegian coasts, which he ravaged and pillaged almost at his pleasure.

Hacon Jarl, who at that time sat on the Norwegian throne, being informed that Sigvald meditated a grand descent, and knowing that he himself was unable to oppose him, had recourse to his G.o.d, Thorgerd, to whom he sacrificed his son Erling. In what manner Thorgerd a.s.sisted him and his forces, when the Danes landed, will best be learned from the bold song which the circ.u.mstance gave rise to, and which the following is a feeble attempt to translate.

When from our s.h.i.+ps we bounded, I heard, with fear astounded, The storm of Thorgerd's waking, From Northern vapours breaking; With flinty ma.s.ses blended, Gigantic hail descended, And thick and fiercely rattled Against us there embattled.

To aid the hostile maces, It drifted in our faces; It drifted, dealing slaughter, And blood ran out like water-- Ran reeking, red, and horrid, From batter'd cheek and forehead; We plied our swords, but no men Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen.

And demon Thorgerd raging To see us still engaging, Shot, downward from the heaven, His shafts of flaming levin; Then sank our brave in numbers, To cold eternal slumbers; There lay the good and gallant, Renown'd for warlike talent.

Our captain, this perceiving, The signal made for leaving, And with his s.h.i.+p departed, Downcast and broken-hearted; War, death, and consternation, Pursu'd our embarkation; We did our best, but no men Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen.

THE ELDER-WITCH.

According to the Danish tradition, there is a female Elf in the elder tree, which she leaves every midnight; and, having strolled among the fields, returns to it before morning.

Though tall the oak, and firm its stem, Though far abroad its boughs are spread, Though high the poplar lifts its head, I have no song for them.

A theme more bright, more bright would be The winsome, winsome elder tree, Beneath whose shade I sit reclin'd;-- It holds a witch within its bark, A lovely witch who haunts the dark, And fills with love my mind.

When ghosts, at midnight, leave their graves, And rous'd is every phantom thing; When mermaids rise and sweetly sing In concert with the waves; When Palnatoka, {f:29} on his steed, Pursues the elves across the mead, Or gallops, gallops o'er the sea, The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, Comes out, comes out to me.

Of leaves the fairies make our bed; The knight, who moulders 'neath the elm, {f:30} Starts up with spear and rusted helm,-- By him the grace is said; And though her kiss is cold at times, And does not scent of earthly climes, Though glaring is her eye, yet still The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, I prize, and ever will.

Yet, once I lov'd a mortal maid, And gaz'd, enraptur'd, on her charms, Oft circled in each other's arms, Together, here we stray'd;-- But, soon, she found a fairer youth, And I a fairer maid, forsooth!

And one more true, more true to me, The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, Has been more true to me.

ODE.

FROM THE GAELIC.

"Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd."

Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers; Life yet I retain, but not gladness; My heart in my bosom is wither'd, And sorrow sits heavy upon me.

For cold, in her grave-hill, is lying The maid whom I gaz'd on, so fondly, Whose teeth were like chalk from the quarry, Whose voice was more sweet than harp music.

Like foam that subsides on the water, Just where the wild swan has been playing; Like snow, by the sunny beam melted, My love, thou wert gone on a sudden.

Salt tears I let fall in abundance, When memory bringeth before me That eye, like the placid blue heaven; That cheek, like the rose in its glory.

Sweet object of warmest affection, Why could not thy beauty protect thee?

Why, sparing so many a thistle, Did Death cut so lovely a blossom?

Here pine I, forlorn and abandon'd, Where once I was cheerful and merry: No joy shall e'er s.h.i.+ne on my visage, Until my last hour's arrival.

O, like the top grain on the corn-ear, Or, like the young pine, 'mong the bushes; Or, like the moon, 'mong the stars s.h.i.+ning, Wert thou, O my love, amongst women!