THREE TRANSLATIONS PROM THE DANISH.

Otago Witness, Issue 2130, 20 December 1894, Page 27

THREE TRANSLATIONS PROM THE DANISH.

AT SEA. The world, methinks, seems like a misty sea— A dull grey sea, where silent vessels meet. A sun as dim as amber shines on me. And when two shins of those that are most fleofc Meet with each other, one of them must sink j While those iv reach with shouts the victor grt»t. Th- waves the blood of many conflicts drink, And many mastless wrecks are seen to drift ■ Like ghostly shapes on the horizon's brink. Whither the course of all those, slow and swift? And in there one with firm, faith in a goal ? Or are we all of faith and trust bereft? Once I did see— but only once -the whole Dark wall of mi*fc float like a veil away, "While beams of glory fell upon my aoul. And on the waters of a perfect day I saw two flower-eirt vessels slowly glide Like *wans across a calm and sunny bay. Before them lay Elysium's coast with wide And -hfll-strown beach, and palm trees green and kighp And purple mountains on the other side, Aud white- winged gulls upon a clear blue sky, NIGHT. Others have labour, the light of the morn, Glamour of dawn on the trembling com. In garments of lusihng silk, through bowers Of flaming autumnal flowers, Theiv goddess moves. But t 'ive in th'-e, Mysterious night. Thy new, and moonshine, and mys'ic gloom Unf Id tue strange and unearthly bloom Of those flowers my spirit loves. VIGIL. Summer iricrht's st.iiJ.7cs3— far out in tue night 'liviuwf of a dog; iiii'l now the chi>p of a bird that took fright. The air is warm— th« puffof wind Strikes in «>y face, then creep-, in behind The h'dge, goes to sleep, and ail is still. The city i« lying in dreamy rp- 1, Mist veiled, mystical, solemn, and still, When day went down in the golilen west, Petrified, dumb, it \va> left, until By morning again it begins to stir— Mystical, solemn. A while .tgo, Life iv the light aud play of tints ; And dow a sadness appears to flow Over its memories. My thoughts, as I walk among trees, they call Upon her whom my soul held dearest of all, An<l the day when our love w.»s Iwn. Perfume of flowers— whence <iocs it come? Scent in the air and scent in the corn Was there then, but sa^nes- is now in the scent, In the -ilence and warmth of the summer night, WhHi makes my soul on the past iutent. How long it seems fince that day when first She and I formed our plight I The flowers upon the chestnut trees Stand vow in row like candles lit To a feast— their festal flames shall light Me on my vigil th ough the night. And grutly, as if afrai i to start Her who is bheping, I wander through the deserted streets, keeping My vigil with festal mood in my heart. — O&wald Hugo. Thame», Christmas ISOi.