All thy pleasures, all thy sweets! Thorns below, and flowers above! Perjured, false, treacherous Love: BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. THUS then, much care-worn, The son of Healfden Sorrowed evermore, Ner might the prudent hero The war was too hard, Good among the Goths, Noble and stalwart. The mighty monarch, He might find, The sea-wood sought he, Sea-crafty man! The landmarks, The ship was on the waves, To the prow mounted. The men shoved off, Men on their willing way, The bounden wood. Then went over the sea-waves, Hurried by the wind, The ship with foamy neck, Most like a sea-fowl, Till about one hour The shore-cliffs shining, The sea-bark moored, Their mail-sarks shook, Their war-weeds. God thanked they, That to them the sea-journey Easy had been. Then from the wall beheld The warden of the Scyldings, He who the sea-cliffs Had in his keeping, Bear o'er the balks The bright shields, The war-weapons speedily. In his mind's thought, What these men might be. Went then to the shore, Host in harness, Who thus the brown keel Over the water-street Leading come Hither over the sea? I these boundaries As shore-warden hold; That in the Land of the Danes Nothing loathsome With a ship-crew Not seldom this warrior Is in weapons distinguished; Your origin know, Ere ye forth As false spies Into the Land of the Danes Farther fare. Now, ye dwellers afar off! Ye sailors of the sea! Listen to my One-fold thought. Quickest is best To make known Whence your coming may be." THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THE BODY. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. MUCH it behoveth Each one of mortals, That he his soul's journey In himself ponder, When Death cometh, Long it is thenceforth The soul shall come That it erst dwelt in ;-- Unless ere that worketh The eternal Lord, The end of the world. Crieth then, so care-worn, With cold utterance, And speaketh grimly, The ghost to the dust: "Dry dust! thou dreary one! How little didst thou labour for me! In the foulness of earth Thou all wearest away Like to the loam! Little didst thou think SONG. FROM THE PORTUGUESE. Ir thou art sleeping, maiden, Awake, and open thy door: 'Tis the break of day, and we must away, O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. Wait not to find thy slippers, But come with thy naked feet: We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, And waters wide and fleet. FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD. FROM THE SWEDISH. THREE miles extended around the fields of the homestead; on three sides Valleys, and mountains, and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean. Birch-woods crowned the summits, but over the down-sloping hill-sides Flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye-field. Lakes, full many in number, their mirror held up for the mountains, Held for the forests up, in whose depths the high-antlered reindeers Had their kingly walk, and drank of a hundred brooklets. But in the valleys, full widely around, there fed on the greensward Herds with sleek, shining sides, and udders that longed for the milk-pail. 'Mid these were scattered, now here and now there, a vast countless number Of white-woolled sheep, as thou seest the white-looking stray clouds, Flock-wise, spread o'er the heavenly vault, when it bloweth in spring-time. Twice twelve swift-footed coursers, mettlesome, fast-fettered storm-winds, Stamping stood in the line of stalls, all champing their fodder, Knotted with red their manes, and their hoofs all whitened with steel shoes. The banquet-hall, a house by itself, was timbered of hard fir. Lips, as a bee on the rose; but the Skald was thinking of Bragé, Mid-way the floor (with thatch was it strewn), burned for ever the fire-flame Glad on its stone-built hearth; and through the wide-mouthed smoke-flue |