Yes, when over Rome he stood there In that high, historic clearness, And his eye the mountain-ridges Followed toward the red of evening,-- Then all beams of longing focused In a blessed intuition, And -- he saw a church before him Greater far than that of nature, And he felt a peace descending, Larger far than all the present. When the second time he came there, After days and nights of labor, Hard as were it for redemption,-- Then the Lord Himself gave welcome, Led him gently thither, saying: "Peace be with thee! Thou hast conquered!" But to us with sorrow stricken Turned the Lord with comfort, saying: "When _I_ call, who then dares murmur, That the called man had not finished?" Whoso dies, he here had finished! Spite our sorrow we believe it, Hold that He, who unrest giveth (The discoverer's disquiet, That drove Newton, drove Columbus), Also knows when rest is needed. But we question, while reviewing All that mighty thought-armada Now disbanded, home-returning: Who again shall reunite it? For when _he_ cut his war-arrow, Lords and liegemen soon were mustered, And to aid from Sweden, Denmark, England, France, swift-flying vessels Coursed the sea-ways toward his standard. Royal was that fleet and mighty, By our shore at anchor lying; We were wont to see it near us Or to hear the wondrous tidings Of its cruises and its conquests. What it won we own forever; But the fleet is sailing homeward. Here we stand the last sail watching As it sinks on the horizon. Then we turn and breathe the question: Who again shall reunite it? KING FREDERIK THE SEVENTH (1863) (See Note 21) Our King is bereft of a trusty friend! And in dismay We lower our banners and sad attend On his burial day. But Denmark, in sorrow most deep thou waitest, For fallen the life that was warmest, greatest, And fallen the tower Of mightiest power. Bewailing the death of their kingly chief, Men voice their grief. For Denmark's salvation the man was born Who now is dead. When banished in youth from the court in scorn, To his people he fled. There throve he right well, there grew he together With peasants and sailors in foul and fair weather, While fullness of living Its schooling was giving; When ready for Denmark was laid the snare, Then he was there! Now soon it was plain, he was peasant-skulled For their tricks; and hence The traitors' shrewd schemings were all annulled By his bit of sense. He knew but one thing;--what his people thought them, And therefore in danger he freedom brought them. The whole was his vision, He would no scission; His words were but few, and of these the key: "It shall not be!"