Then waken'd Thor, {f:28} And drew around his loins the mighty belt Of bear-sinews; With love fraternal harden'd he his shield, With eager haste he sharp'd his blunted glaive, And, with the iron of his hammer, touch'd Each Dane's and every Norman's breast-- Shot his heroic flame therein, and smil'd! MANY VOICES. And Denmark and Norway smil'd. LOUD CHORUS. Upon the water, Upon the land, We boun'd for slaughter, At Thor's command. MAIDENS. Then fell our tears so quickly, We breath'd, we breath'd so thickly, While scarce our lips could stammer forth Prayers for you, and for the North. MATRONS. And we, and we, with breasts that smarted, Knelt, lowly knelt, whilst firm ye stood, From us and from affection parted, In reek and smoke, in brothers' blood! CHORUS OF MEN. Tenderness comes from God; Woman and man in its praise should sing; But tenderness flies at honour's nod; We offer all up to our land and King. ONE VOICE. What sang ye, warlike throngs? Repeat, repeat this day, One of the simple, nervous, songs Ye murmur'd out, when, hot with wrongs, Ye waited the coming fray. UNIVERSAL CHORUS. We love, we all love thee, beneficent Peace, &c. SOLO. Like the wave of the wild North main, Foaming and frothing came on our foe; Proud of his triumphs, proud of his train, He thought to lay us low: But, from Denmark's lines of oak, A horrible, horrible volley outbroke; Then tumbled his mast, His courage fell fast; And the wave, which resembled his furious mood, Was now with his blood embrued. CHORUS. This is Denmark's holyday; Dance, ye maidens! Sing, ye men! Tune, ye harpers! Blush, ye heroes! This is Denmark's holyday. A VOICE. But, hark! what sobbing and what mournful notes Are mixing with our hymns of ardent joy! Hush, hush, be still; A band of white-rob'd maids approaches slow, With lily chaplets round their yellow locks, With heavy tear-drops in their sunken eye; Broken and trembling sounds The melancholy song, Accompanied by harp-tones rising mild. YOUTHFUL MAIDENS. Love, with rosy fetter, Held us firmly bound; Pure unmix'd enjoyment Grateful here we found. Bosom, bosom meeting, 'Gainst our youths we press'd; Bright the moon arose, then, Glad to see us blest. Denmark's honour beckon'd, Loud the canon roar'd; Perish'd in the battle They whom we ador'd. Sweet is, grave, thy slumber, Free from care and noise; Short are earthly sorrows,-- Endless heaven's joys. SUDDEN CHORUS OF THE SLAIN WARRIORS IS HEARD FROM ON HIGH.