Here we stand the last sail watching
As it sinks on the horizon.

Then we turn and breathe the question:
Who again shall reunite it?

OUR King is bereft of a trusty friend!
And in dismay

We lower our banners and sad attend
On his burial day.

But Denmark, in sorrow most deep thou waitest,
For fallen the life that was warmest, greatest,
And fallen the tower

Of mightiest power.

Bewailing the death of their kingly chief,
Men voice their grief.

For Denmark's salvation the man was born
Who now is dead.

When banished in youth from the court in scorn,
To his people he fled.

There throve he right well, there grew he together With peasants and sailors in foul and fair weather, While fullness of living

Its schooling was giving;

When ready for Denmark was laid the snare,
Then he was there!

Now soon it was plain, he was peasant-skulled

For their tricks; and hence

The traitors' shrewd schemings were all annulled
By his bit of sense.

He knew but one thing,-what his people thought them,
And therefore in danger he freedom brought them.
The whole was his vision,

He would no scission;

His words were but few, and of these the key: "It shall not be!"

He stood by the helm like a sailor good,
In no storm remiss;

Of praise the tribute he never would,
But he shall have this!

The ship to the North he unswerving directed,-
In storm or in fog, exposed or protected;-
And fear allaying,

All folk were saying:

"He is n't so stupid as people tell, For all goes well!"

"On deck every man!" was his last command, "There's storm again!"

When answered the cry from the mast-head: "Land!" Oh, then, just then,

Were loosed from the helm the true hands that were

steering,

In death he sank down, while the ship began veering—

No, never veering!

To the course adhering!

Now, Denmark, united, with all thy force
Hold straight his course!

He made it his honor, in line to stand,
No rank to know;

But shoulder to shoulder to lend a hand,
And pride forego.

They gather now fruit of his faithful training:
Well drilled, every man at his post is straining.
The course is steady,

For tried and ready

Is many a helmsman, and all their will

Is "Northward still!"

Naught else can they do now, but with good cheer
Hold out they must,

Stand guard in the darkness and have no fear,
In God their trust.

It is sultry and silent, and yearning in sorrow
All breathless they listen and wait for the morrow,-
'T is time for waiting,

Till, night abating,

The eastern sky reddens and bright dawn speeds
The day of deeds!

TO SWEDEN

(DECEMBER 28, 1863)

LIFT thou thine ancient yellow-blue!

Aloft the front must show it. The German's slow to take the cue, But seeing that he'll know it.

He'll know that greater danger's near Than ink on Bismarck's trousers; That it will cost him doubly dear, Men, horses, bovine browsers;

That ten years' nonsense now is done,
The daily quarrel dirty

Will soon become a war with one
Who held his own for thirty;

The Northland's stubborn folk allied
Their forces are uniting,

With glorious memories to guide,
The Northern heavens lighting;

That great Gustavus once again
To battle glad is riding,

But now against the Southern men

With Christian Fourth is siding,

With Haakon Earl the times of old

Round Palnatoki gather;

Near Charles the Twelfth stands Tordenskjold,

Placid, and smiling rather,—

That we,

who have so well known how

To fight against each other,

Shall not exactly scorn earn now,

When brother stands with brother.

But forward thou the way must lead
With stirring drum-beats' rattle,
Thy marching-step we all must heed,
Thou'rt known on fields of battle.

That ancient Swedish melody,
Renowned in world-wide glory,
Not merely for the heart's deep plea
In Jenny's travel-story,—

But for the solemn earnestness

To Lützen's battle calling,
And for the daring strains no less,
That rang at Narwa's falling,—

The song thou sang'st the North t' inspire With virtue and with power,

The three must with united choir

Lift up this very hour!