FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD.
The squirrel that's sporting
Amid the green leaves,
Full oft, with its rustle,
The hunter deceives;
Who starts--and believing
That booty is nigh,
His heart, for a moment,
With pleasure beats high.
"Now, courage!" he mutters,
And crouching below
A thunder-split linden,
He waits for his foe:
"Ha! joy to the hunter;
A monstrous bear
E'en now is approaching,
And bids me prepare.
"Hark! hark! for the monarch
Of forests, ere long,
Will breathe out his bellow,
Deep-throated and strong:"
Thus saying, he gazes
Intently around;
But, death to his wishes!
Can hear not a sound:
Except when, at moments,
The wind rising shrill
Wafts boughs from the bushes,
Across the lone hill.
Wo worth, to thee, squirrel,
Amid the green leaves,
Full oft thy loud rustle
The hunter deceives.
NATIONAL SONG.
FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD.
King Christian stood beside the mast;
Smoke, mixt with flame,
Hung o'er his guns, that rattled fast
Against the Gothmen, as they pass'd:
Then sunk each hostile sail and mast
In smoke and flame.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105