Path of the Dane to fame and might! Dark-rolling wave ! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, Proudly as thou the tempest's might, And amid pleasures and alarms, And war and victory, be thine arms THE HAPPIEST LAND. FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD. FROM THE GERMAN. THERE sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, Four hale and hearty fellows, The landlord's daughter filled their cups, Around the rustic board; Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word. But when the maid departed, A Swabian raised his hand, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, Long live the Swabian land! The greatest kingdom upon earth With all the stout and hardy men, Ha! cried a Saxon laughing,- I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine! The goodliest land on all this earth, It is the Saxon land! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand! Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon! A bold Bohemian cries; If there's a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies. There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn. And then the landlord's daughter And said, Ye may no more contend, There lies the happiest land! THE WAVE. FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE. WHITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou? I am the Wave of Life, Stained with my margin's dust; From the struggle and the strife Of the narrow stream I fly To the Sea's immensity, To wash from me the slime Of the muddy banks of Time. |