I am so happy for everything! Hallo! Why go you with mighty spring The fox lay hid by the birch-tree's root The hare dashed to him with reckless foot May God have mercy, but this is queer!— NILS FINN (FROM HALTE Hulda) Now little Nils Finn had away to go; Then little Nils Finn in the snow set his feet: "You ugliest troll, you shall never me cheat!" "Hee-ho-ha!" rumbled yonder. Nils Finn with his staff beat the snow till it blew: "Your trollship, now saw you how hapless it flew?" -"Hit-li-hu!" rumbled yonder. Nils Finn pushed one ski farther forward with might; The other held fast,-he reeled left and right. "Pull it up!" rumbled yonder. Nils' tears wet the snow, while he kicked and he struck; The more that he kicked there, the deeper he stuck. "That was good!" rumbled yonder. The birch-trees, they danced, and the pine-trees said "Hoo!" They more were than one,- were a hundred and two. -"Know your way?" rumbled yonder. A laugh shook the ridge till it made the snow fly; But Nils clenched his fists and he swore 't was a lie. "Now beware!" rumbled yonder. The snow-field yawned wide, and the heavens came low; Nils thought 't was now time for him also to go. -"Is he gone?" rumbled yonder.— Two skis in the snow looked about everywhere, THE MAIDENS' SONG (FROM HALTE Hulda) GOOD-MORNING, Sun, 'mid the leaves so green- Good-morning, sun, o'er the royal tower! Good-morning, sun, o'er the mountain-side! I THE DOVE (FROM HALTe hulda) saw a dove fear-daunted, By howling storm-blast driven; No cry nor moan it uttered, THE MOTHER'S SONG (FROM ARNE) LORD! Oh, hold in Thy hand my child, Send Thou Thy Spirit as comrade mild, Deep is the water and false the ground. Mother, whom loneliness befalls, Knowing not where it is faring, Goes to the door, and its name there calls;- He and Thou for it always care; Jesus, its little brother, Follows it home to mother. LAMBKIN MINE (FROM ARNE) KILLE, kille, lambkin mine, Though it often be hard to climb Follow thy bell's sweet ringing! Kille, kille, lambkin mine, Take good care of that fleece-coat thine! Sewed to one and another, Warm it shall keep my mother. Kille, kille, lambkin mine, Feed and fatten thy flesh so fine! IF BALLAD OF TAILOR NILS (FROM ARNE) F you were born before yesterday, Surely you've heard about Tailor Nils, who flaunts him so gay. If it's more than a week that you've been here, severe. Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin': "When Nils heaves you again, take with you some lunch eon." Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned, Haunting ghosts of his name spread alarm all around. "Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare! On that spot will I spit and lay your head right there."— |