Forsooth it is pleasant, at eve or at noon,
To gaze on the sea and its far-winding bays,
When ting’d by the light of the wandering moon,
Or when red with the gold of the midsummer rays.

What of that? what of that? thou shouldst ever behold
That lustre as nought but a bait and a snare: 
Ah, what is the summer sun’s purple and gold
Unto him, who can breathe not in freedom the air?

O pause for a while in thy downward career! 
But still art thou streaming, my words are in vain: 
Bethink thee that oft-changing winds domineer
On the billowy breast of the time-serving main.

Then haste not, I pray thee, to yonder blue sea,
For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny’s rod,
Whilst here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free—­
Free as a cloud-bird, and strong as a God.

CHLOE.

From the Dutch of Johannes Bellamy.

O we have a sister on earthly dominions! 
Cried two of the holy Angelical train,
And flew up to heaven with fluttering pinions,
But quickly to earth they descended again;
Their brothers, with voices triumphantly lifted,
Behind them came flocking this wonder to view,
More fast than the gleam from the cloud that is rifted,
Down, down to a forest of beeches they flew,

And there beheld Chloe, all rapt in devotion,
Upon the ground kneeling, unable to speak;
A tear-drop, the offspring of pious emotion,
Was streaming like dew down her beautiful cheek. 
Confounded, astonish’d, in ecstacy gazing,
Around her the spirits aerial stood,
Then sudden their voices tumultuously raising
Cried:  Father, we’ll stay with her here in the wood!

Then frown’d the dread Father; his thunders appalling
To rattle began, and his whirlwinds to roar,
Then trembled the host, but they heeded his calling,
And Chloe up-snatching, to heaven they soar. 
O we had a sister on earthly dominions! 
They sang as through heaven triumphant they stray’d,
And bore with flush’d faces and fluttering pinions
To God’s throne of brightness the yet praying maid.

NATIONAL SONG.

From the Danish of Evald.

Written to commemorate three great naval victories achieved by the three great Danish heroes, Christian, Juul, and Tordenskiold.

King Christian stood beside the mast
In smoke and mist. 
His weapons, hammering hard and fast,
Through helms and brains of Gothmen pass’d,
Then sank each hostile sail and mast
In smoke and mist. 
“Fly,” said the foe, “fly all that can,
For who can Denmark’s Christian
Resist?”

Niels Juul he mark’d the tempest’s roar: 
“Now, now’s the tide!”
He hoists his banner, red as gore,
And plied his foemen aft and fore,
Loud crying ’midst the tempest’s roar: 
“Now, now’s the tide!”
“Fly each, who knows a refuge path,
For who can Juul, when hot with wrath,
Abide!”