Take his queen, for she is thine, and once the bridal kıss

she gave;

Now no human eye beholds thee; deep and silent is the

grave."

Frithiof listens; hark! there sings a snow-white bird upon the bough :

"Though no human eye beholds thee, Odin's eye beholds thee now,

Coward, wilt thou murder slumber? a defenceless old man slay?

Whatsoe'er thou winn'st, thou canst not win a hero's fame this way."

Thus the two wood-birds did warble; Frithiof took his war-sword good,

With a shudder hurled it from him, far into the gloomy wood Coal-black bird flies down to Nastrand; but on light unfolded wings,

Like the tone of harps, the other, sounding towards the sun upsprings.

Straight the ancient king awakens.

sleep," he said;

"Sweet has been my

“Pleasantly sleeps one in the shadow, guarded by a brave man's blade.

But where is thy sword, O stranger? Lightning's brother, where is he?

Who thus parts you, who should never from each other parted be?"

"It avails not," Frithiof answered; "in the North are other swords;

Sharp, O monarch, is the sword's tongue, and it speaks not peaceful words,

Murky spirits dwell in steel-blades, spirits from the Niffelhem,

Slumber is not safe before them, silver locks but anger

them."

* The Strand of Corpses; a region in the Niffelhem, or Scandinavian Hell,

At the foot of the mountain height Where is perched Castèl-Cuillè,

When the apple, the plum, and the almond-tree
In the plain below were growing white,
This is the song one might perceive

On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's eve :
"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,

So fair a bride shall pass to-day!"

This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending,
Seemed from the clouds descending;
When lo! a merry company

Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye,

Each one with her attendant swain, Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain ; Resembling there so near unto the sky, Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent For their delight and our encouragement.

Together blending,
And soon descending
The narrow sweep
Of the hill-side steep,
They wind aslant

Towards Saint Amant,
Through leafy alleys
Of verdurous valleys,

With merry sallies

Singing their chant:

"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home!

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,

So fair a bride shall pass to-day!"

It is Baptiste and his affianced maiden,
With garlands for the bridal laden!

The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom,
The sun of March was shining brightly,
And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly
Its breathings of perfume.

When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom,
A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it is!

To sounds of joyous melodies,

That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, A band of maidens

Gaily frolicking,

A band of youngsters
Wildly rollicking!
Kissing,
Caressing,

With fingers pressing,

Till in the veriest

Madness of mirth, as they dance,

They retreat and advance,

Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest;
While the bride, with roguish eyes,
Sporting with them, now escapes and cries:
"Those who catch me

Married verily

This year shall be!"

And all pursue with eager haste,
And all attain what they pursue,

And touch her pretty apron fresh and new,
And the linen kirtle round her waist.

Meanwhile, whence comes it that among
These youthful maidens fresh and fair,
So joyous, with such laughing air,
Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue?
And yet the bride is fair and young!

Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all,
That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a fall?

Oh, no! for maiden frail, I trow,

Never bore so lofty a brow!

What lovers! they give not a single caress!
To see them so careless and cold to-day,

These are grand people, one would say.
What ails Baptiste? what grief doth him oppress ?

It is, that, half way up the hill,
In yon cottage, by whose walls
Stand the cart-house and the stalls,
Dwelleth the blind orphan still,
Daughter of a veteran old;

And you must know, one year ago,
That Margaret, the young and tender,
Was the village pride and splendour,
And Baptiste her lover bold.

Love, the deceiver, them ensnared ;
For them the altar was prepared;
But alas! the summer's blight,
The dread disease that none can stay,
The pestilence that walks by night,
Took the young bride's sight away.

All at the father's stern command was changed;
Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged.
Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled,
Returned but three short days ago,

The golden chain they round him throw,
He is enticed, and onward led

To marry Angela, and yet

Is thinking ever of Margaret.

Then suddenly a maiden cried,

"Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate!

Here comes the cripple Jane !" And by a fountain's side
A woman, bent and gray with years,

Under the mulberry-trees appears,
And all towards her run, as fleet
As had they wings upon their feet.