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 ship 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.
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