THE

NORWEGIAN'S THREE WATCHWORDS:

Courage, Energy, and Unanimity.

BY

JOHAN STORM MUNCK,

CHAPLAIN GENERAL TO THE FORCES OF NORWAY.

WHEN the harper's mute, and the harp stills her

strings,

The joy of the circle is o'er;

Then list, while the three words of potence he sings, The watchwords of Norway's shore;

And if there's a heart throbs at Norway's dear name, He will answer the harp with shout and acclaim.

Behold the tall pine-tree, how proud and how fair, On the brow of her parent hill,

She waves her green crown, and exults in the air, And laughs at the storm's rough will:

Like the pine of your land let your courage rise high, Nor shrink from her call, though she call you to die.

Behold how, untired and unbroken in might
By his toils of a thousand years,

With foot like a youth, leaping down from his height,
The torrent of ages* appears;

May each heart of our land with like energy beat, "Till its last crimson current is pour'd at her feet.

Behold where the ocean, with battle-alarms,
Chafes the rocks of our land in his pride;
Behold where the sea-rocks, like brethren in arms,
Encounter his wrath side by side:

Just Heaven! may our swords flame in unity yet, 'Till Norway's last sun on her mountains is set!

* The Sarp, a celebrated cataract in Norway.

DANISH WAR SONG.

BY

CHRISTEN PRAM,

MEMBER OF THE BOARD OF TRADE AT COPENHAGEN.

So joyous we draw the bright sword from its sheath, And hasten up victory's height,

When the trumpet proclaims with its heart-stirring breath

Our country's loud summons to fight: We shout it triumphant, expiring we sing,

"Heaven prosper our country, our love, and our

king."

So joyous we draw the bright sword from its sheath, When Denmark's renown gives command;

If there's one who for her would not slumber in death, Such a soul is not worth such a land!

We shout it triumphant, expiring we sing, "Heaven prosper our country, our love, and our king."

So joyous we draw the bright sword from its sheath,
For our monarch, the noble and kind;

And to fall in his cause is as glorious a wreath
As to combat for him left behind!

We shout it triumphant, expiring we sing,

"Heaven prosper our country, our love, and our king."

So joyous aside the red falchion we fling,

When its point has bought peace to our shore; Then shout for our fair land, and bountiful king, Joy follows the battle's dread roar;

And mountain and flood shall join voice as we sing, "Heaven prosper our queen, and give joy to our king."

NORWEGIAN LOVE SONG.

BY

PETER ANDREAS HEIBERG,

OF BERGEN.

THE bright red sun in ocean slept;
Beneath a pine-tree Gunild wept,

And ey'd the hills with silver crown'd,

And listen'd to each little sound

That stirr'd on high.

"Thou stream," she said, "from heights above,

Flow softly to a woman's love!

As on thy azure current steering,

Flow soft, and shut not from my hearing

The sounds I love.