He stood by the helm like a sailor good, In no storm remiss; Of praise the tribute he never would, But he shall have _this_! The ship to the North he unswerving directed,-- In storm or in fog, exposed or protected;-- And fear allaying, All folk were saying: "He isn't so stupid as people tell, For all goes well!" "On deck every man!" was his last command, "There's storm again!" When answered the cry from the mast-head: "Land!" Oh, then, just then, Were loosed from the helm the true hands that were steering, In death he sank down, while the ship began veering-- No, never veering! To the course adhering! Now, Denmark, united, with all thy force Hold straight his course! He made it his honor, in line to stand, No rank to know; But shoulder to shoulder to lend a hand, And pride forego. They gather now fruit of his faithful training: Well drilled, every man at his post is straining. The course is steady, For tried and ready Is many a helmsman, and all their will Is "Northward still!" Naught else can they do now, but with good cheer Hold out they must, Stand guard in the darkness and have no fear, In God their trust. It is sultry and silent, and yearning in sorrow All breathless they listen and wait for the morrow,-- 'T is time for waiting, Till, night abating, The eastern sky reddens and bright dawn speeds The day of deeds! TO SWEDEN (DECEMBER 28, 1863) (See Note 22) Lift thou thine ancient yellow-blue! Aloft the front must show it. The German's slow to take the cue, But seeing that he'll know it. He'll know that greater danger's near Than ink on Bismarck's trousers; That it will cost him doubly dear, Men, horses, bovine browsers; That ten years' nonsense now is done, The daily quarrel dirty Will soon become a war with one Who held his own for thirty; The Northland's stubborn folk allied Their forces are uniting, With glorious memories to guide, The Northern heavens lighting; That great Gustavus once again To battle glad is riding, But now _against_ the Southern men _With_ Christian Fourth is siding,-- With Haakon Earl the times of old Round Palnatoki gather; Near Charles the Twelfth stands Tordenskjold, Placid, and smiling rather,-- That we, who have so well known how To fight against each other, Shall not exactly scorn earn now, When brother stands with brother. But forward _thou_ the way must lead With stirring drum-beats' rattle, Thy marching-step we all must heed, Thou 'rt known on fields of battle. That ancient Swedish melody, Renowned in world-wide glory, Not merely for the heart's deep plea In Jenny's travel-story,-- But for the solemn earnestness To Lützen's battle calling, And for the daring strains no less, That rang at Narwa's falling,--