The heroes return'd from the well-foughten field, And bore home Sir Frovin's corse, laid on a shield; Sad sight for the maid! but she still was alert, And sew'd round the body the funeral shirt:

And when she had come to the very last st.i.tch, Her feelings, so long suppress'd, rose to a pitch, The cold clammy sweat from her features outbroke; Death struck her, and meekly she bow'd to the stroke.

She rests with her lover now deep in the grave, And o'er them the beeches their mossy boughs wave; There sing the Erl-maidens their ditties aloud, And dance while the merry moon peeps from the cloud.

AAGER AND ELIZA.

FROM THE OLD DANISH.

Have ye heard of bold Sir Aager, How he rode to yonder isle; There he saw the sweet Eliza, Who upon him deign'd to smile.

There he married sweet Eliza, With her lands and ruddy gold-- Wo is me! the Monday after, Dead he lay beneath the mould!

In her bower sat Eliza; Rent the air with shriek and groan; All which heard the good Sir Aager, Underneath the granite stone.

Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, Took the coffin on his back; And to fair Eliza's bower Hasten'd, by the well-known track.

On her chamber's lowly portal, With his fingers long and thin, Thrice he tapp'd, and bade Eliza Straightway let her bridegroom in!

Straightway answer'd fair Eliza, "I will not undo my door Till I hear thee name sweet Jesus, As thou oft hast done before."

"Rise, O rise, my own Eliza, And undo thy chamber door; I can name the name of Jesus, As I once could do before."

Up then rose the sweet Eliza,-- Up she rose, and twirl'd the pin.

Straight the chamber door flew open, And the dead man glided in.

With her comb she comb'd his ringlets, For she felt but little fear: On each lock that she adjusted Fell a hot and briny tear.

"Listen, now, my good Sir Aager, Dearest bridegroom, all I crave Is to know how it goes with thee, In that lonely place, the grave?"

"Every time that thou rejoicest, And thy breast with pleasure heaves, Then that moment is my coffin Lin'd with rose and laurel leaves.

"Every time that thou art shedding From thine eyes the briny flood, Then that moment is my coffin Fill'd with black and loathsome blood.

"Heard I not the red c.o.c.k crowing, Distant far upon the wind?

Down to dust the dead are going, And I may not stop behind.

"Heaven's ruddy portals open,-- Daylight bursts upon my view; Though the word be hard to utter, I must bid thee, love, adieu!"

Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, Took the coffin on his back, To the church-yard straight he hasten'd By the well-known, beaten, track.

Up then rose the sweet Eliza; Tear-drops on her features stood, While her lover she attended Through the dark and dreary wood.

When they reach'd the lone enclosure, (Last, sad, refuge of the dead)-- From the cheeks of good Sir Aager All the lovely colour fled:

"Listen, now, my sweet Eliza, If my peace be dear to thee: Never, then, from this time forward, Shed a single tear for me.

"Turn thy lovely eyes to heaven, Where the stars are beaming pale; Thou canst tell me, then, for certain, If the night begins to fail."

When she turn'd her eyes to heaven, All with stars besprinkled o'er, In the earth the dead man glided, And she never saw him more.

Homeward went the sweet Eliza; Oh, her heart was chill and cold:-- Wo is me! the Monday after, Dead she lay beneath the mould!

SAINT OLUF.

FROM THE OLD DANISH.

St. Oluf was a mighty king, Who rul'd the Northern land; The holy Christian faith he preach'd, And taught it, sword in hand.

St. Oluf built a lofty ship, With sails of silk so fair; "To Hornelummer I must go, And see what's pa.s.sing there."

"O do not go," the seamen said, "To yonder fatal ground, Where savage Jutts, {f:5} and wicked elves, And demon sprites, abound."

St. Oluf climb'd the vessel's side; His courage nought could tame!

"Heave up, heave up the anchor straight; Let's go in Jesu's name.

"The cross shall be my faulchion now-- The book of G.o.d my shield; And, arm'd with them, I hope and trust To make the demons yield."

And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky, The gallant vessel flew; Direct for Hornelummer's rock, Through ocean's wavy blue.

'T was early in the morning tide When she cast anchor there; And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff, To breathe the morning air:

His eyes were like the burning beal-- His mouth was all awry; The truth I tell, and say he stood Full twenty cubits high:

His beard was like a horse's mane, And down his bosom roll'd; The claws that fenc'd his finger ends Were frightful to behold.

"I never yet have seen," he cried, "A ship come near my strand, That here to sh.o.r.e I could not drag, By putting out my hand."

The good St. Oluf smil'd thereat, And thus address'd his crew: "Now hold your tongues, and well observe What I'm about to do."

The giant stretch'd his mighty arm; The ship was nigh his own; But when St. Oluf rais'd the cross, He sank knee-deep in stone.

"Here am I, sunk knee-deep in stone!

My legs I cannot move; But, since my back and fists are free, My might thou yet shalt prove."

"Be still, be still, thou noisy guest-- Be still for evermore; Become a rock and beetle there, Above the billows h.o.a.r."

Up started then, from out the hill, The demon's h.o.a.ry wife; She curs'd the king a thousand times, And brandish'd high her knife.

Sore wonder'd then the little elves, Who sat within the hill, To see their mother, all at once, Stand likewise stiff and still:

"'T is done," they cried, "by yonder wight, Who rides upon the waves; Let's wade out to him, through the surf, And beat him with our staves."