The ballads in this volume are translated from the Works of OEHLENSLAEGER, (a poet who is yet living, and who stands high in the estimation of his countrymen,) and from the KIAEMPE VISER, a collection of old songs, celebrating the actions of the ancient heroes of Scandinavia.
sigh'd the wind among the bushy grounds,
Far in the distance rose the yell of hounds:
The flame-wisps, starting from the sedge and grass,
Hung, 'mid the vapours, over the morass.
Up to him came a beldame, wildly drest,
Bearing a closely-folded feather-vest:
She smil'd upon him with her cheeks so wan,
Gave him the robe, and was already gone.
Young Harrald, though astonish'd, has no fears;
The mighty garment in his hand he rears:
Of wond'rous lovely feathers it was made,
Which once the roc and ostrich had array'd.
He wishes much to veil in it his form,
And speed as rapidly as speeds the storm:
He puts it on, then seeks the open plain, -
Takes a short flight, and flutters back again.
"Courage!" he cried, "I will no longer stay;
Scotland shall see me, ere the break of day."
Then like a dragon in the air he soars,
Startled from slumber, in his wake it roars.
His wings across the ocean take their flight;
Groves, cities, hills