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Translated by William Sidney Walker THOU spot of earth, where from my bosom | |
The first weak tones of nature rose; | |
Where first I cropped the stainless blossom | |
Of pleasure, yet unmixed with woes; | |
Where, with my new-born powers delighted, | 5 |
I tripped beneath a mothers hand; | |
In thee the quenchless flame was lighted, | |
That sparkles for my native land! | |
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And when in childhoods quiet morning | |
Sometimes to distant haunts we rove, | 10 |
The heart, like bended bow returning, | |
Springs swifter to its home of love! | |
Each hill, each dale, that shared our pleasures, | |
Becomes a heaven in memory; | |
And even the broken veteran measures | 15 |
With sprightlier step his haunts of glee. | |
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Through east, through west, whereer creation | |
Glows with the cheerful hum of men, | |
Clear, bright it burns, to earths last nation, | |
The ardor of the citizen! | 20 |
The son of Greenlands white expansion | |
Contemns green corn and laughing vine; | |
The cot is his embattled mansion, | |
The rugged rock his Palestine. | |
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Such was the beacon-light that guided | 25 |
Our earliest chiefs through war and woe; | |
Even love itself in fame subsided, | |
Though love was all their good below: | |
Thus young Hialte rushed to glory, | |
And left his mourning maid behind; | 30 |
He fell,and Honor round his story, | |
Dropping with tears, her wreath entwined. | |
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Such flame, O pastor-chief! impelled thee | |
To quit the crosier for the blade; | |
Not even the heaven-loved cloister held thee, | 35 |
When Denmark called thee to her aid: | |
No storms could chill, no darkness blind thee, | |
Ankona saw her thousands bend; | |
Yet when her suppliant arms entwined thee, | |
She found a man in Denmarks friend. | 40 |
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Oer Norways crags, oer Denmarks valleys, | |
Heroic tombs profusely rise, | |
Memorials of the love that rallies | |
Nations round kings, and knits their ties. | |
Sweet is the bond of filial duty, | 45 |
Sweet is the grasp of friendly hand, | |
Sweet is the kiss of opening beauty, | |
But sweeter still our native land. | |
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Thou monument of truth unfailing! | |
Sublime, unshaken Frederickshall! | 50 |
In vain, with peal on peal assailing, | |
Charles thundered at thy fatal wall; | |
Beneath thy cliff, in flames ascending, | |
A sacrifice to virtue blazed, | |
When patriot bands, serene, unbending, | 55 |
Consumed the domes their fathers raised. | |
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O royal town! in memory hallowed | |
To Denmarks last and darkest day! | |
The prize that Swedens hunter followed | |
Behind thy feeble ramparts lay: | 60 |
But faith, the strength of towers supplying, | |
Bade Vasa tremble for his name; | |
While round the rescued Hafnia lying | |
Expired stern Swedens flower and fame. | |
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Long, long shall Danish maidens sigh | 65 |
For those who in their battle fell; | |
And mothers long, with beaming eye, | |
Of Frederickshall and Hafnia tell! | |
The child that learns to lisp his mother, | |
Shall learn to lisp his countrys name; | 70 |
Shall learn to call her son a brother, | |
And guard her rights with heart of flame. | |
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Burn high, burn clear, thou spark unfading, | |
From Holsteins oaks to Dofras base; | |
Till each, in war his country aiding, | 75 |
Remain in peace her strength and grace! | |
The sons of wisdom shall approve us, | |
The God of patriots smile from high, | |
While we, and all the hearts that love us, | |
Breathe but for Denmarks liberty. | 80 |
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