Poems : from the Danish

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Thomas Dobson, William Fry, printer, 1816 - Danish poetry - 148 pages
 

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Page 5 - Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. At each according pause, was heard...
Page 9 - And thou who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, By night and lonely contemplation led To wander in the gloomy walks of fate : Hark ! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease...
Page 29 - He sailed three days, he sailed three nights, He and his merry men bold ; The fourth he neared old Norway's heights ; — I tell you the tale as 'tis told. On Romsdale coast has he landed his host, And lifted the flag of ruin ; Full fourteen hundred, of mickle boast, All eager for Norway's undoing. They scathe, they ravage, where'er they light, Justice or ruth unheeding ; They spare not the old for his locks so white Nor the widow for her pleading. They slew the babe on his mother's arm, As he smiled...
Page 139 - ... no better or more pure religion was known in those days, he acted with prudence in not betraying either a contempt or disregard for the prevailing worship of the country, lest his subjects, stimulated by such example, might become indifferent, not only to their sacred, but to their political duties. Yet he rejected from his heart these profane ceremonies, and believed in the existence of a more powerful God, whom he secretly adored.
Page 73 - O'er Denmark's green vales spread a buckler of gold ; Pour the glories of harvest unsparingly forth, And show that our wealth is our dear native mould : Smile on the conqueror of ocean, who urges Through darkness and tempests, his blue path to fame ; May the sea spare her hero, and waft on her surges Blessings and peace to the land whence he came. Round the forehead of art twine the wreath that she loves, And harden to labor the sinews of youth ; With a hedge of stout hearts guard our Eden's fair...
Page 67 - ... in the purple glow Of morning, and the dewy smile of love, Marked the first gleamings of the Power above : Where, wondering at its birth, my spirit rose, Called forth from nothing by his word sublime, To run its mighty race of joys and woes, The proud coeval of immortal time : Thou spot unequalled ! where the thousand lyres Of spring first met me on her balmy gale, And my rapt fancy heard celestial choirs In the wild wood-notes and my mother's tale : Where my first trembling accents were addressed...
Page 53 - ... feels thee in a guiltless breast ! Peace to the generous heart, essaying With deeds of love to win our praise ! He smiles, the spring of life surveying, Nor fears her cold and wintry days : To his high goal, with triumph bright, The calm years waft him in their flight. Thou glorious goal, that...
Page 17 - Thou spot of earth, where from my bosom The first weak tones of nature rose ; Where first I...
Page 71 - Holstein's golden fields ; 0 Denmark ! in thy quiet lap reclined, The dazzling joys of varied earth forgot, 1 find the peace I strove in vain to find, The peace I never found where thou wert not. The countless wonders of my devious youth, The forms of early love and early truth, Rise on my view, in memory's colors dressed ; And each lost angel smiles more lovingly, And every star that cheered my early sky Shines fairer in this happy port of rest ! ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLAGER.
Page 63 - The actions died not with the day they graced ; The bard embalmed them in his descant wild, And their hymned names, through ages uneffaced, The weary hours of future Danes beguiled. When even their snowy bones had mouldered long, On the high column lived the imperishable song.

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