Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,-
Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen !— When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armèd hand,

Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast,

Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us,

And with a sudden flaw

Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,

Death without quarter!

Mid-ships with iron keel

Struck we her ribs of steel;

Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,

Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er.
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to lee-ward;

There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking sea-ward.

"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother;

Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sun-light hateful!

In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

Oh, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended!

There from the flowing bowl

Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal to the Northland! Skoal!"*
-Thus the tale ended.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

IT was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the lairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

* In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation.

Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the North-east;

The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped a cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale,
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, Oh, say, what may it be?"

""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns,

Oh, say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father, I see a gleaming light,
Oh, say, what may it be?""

But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.