But when they had fuddled with wine their guest, And torn my garments, straightway (Poor youth that I am) they seized me, And bundled me out at the gateway. On waking after a bad night’s rest,-- Sad end to all my ambition!-- Poor youth that I am, I was filling At Cassel a sentry’s position. 20. AWAY! The day’s enamour’d of the night, The springtime loves the winter, And life’s in love with death,-- And thou, thou lovest me! Thou lov’st me--thou’rt already seized By fear-inspiring shadows, And all thy blossoms fade, To death thy soul is bleeding. Away from me, and only love The butterflies, gay triflers, Who in the sunlight sport-- Away from me and sorrow! 21. MADAM METTE. (From the Danish.) Says Bender to Peter over their wine: “I’ll wager (though doubtless you’re clever) “That though your fine singing may conquer the world, “My wife ’twill conquer never.” Then Peter replied: “I’ll wager my horse “To your dog, or the devil is in it, “I’ll sing Madam Mette into my house “This evening, at twelve to a minute.” And when the hour of midnight drew near, Friend Peter commenced his sweet singing; Right over the forest, right over the flood His charming notes were ringing. The fir-trees listen’d in silence deep, The flood stood still and listen’d, The pale moon trembled high up in the sky, The wise stars joyously glisten’d. Madam Mette awoke from out of her sleep: “What singing! How sweet the seduction!” She put on her dress, and left the house-- Alas, it proved her destruction! Right through the forest, right through the flood, She speeded onward straightway; While Peter, with the might of his song, Allured her inside his own gateway. And when she at morning return’d back home, At the door her husband caught her: “Pray tell me, good wife, where you spent the night! “Your garments are dripping with water.” “I spent the night at the water-nymphs’ stream, “And heard the Future told by them; “The mocking fairies wetted me through “With their splashes, for going too nigh them.” “You have not been to the water-nymphs’ stream, “The sand there could ne’er make you muddy; “Your feet, good wife, are bleeding and torn, “Your cheeks are also bloody.” “I spent the night in the elfin wood, “To see the elfin dances; “I wounded my feet and face with the thorns “And fir-boughs cutting like lances.” “The elfins dance in the sweet month of May “On flowery plains, but the chilly “Bleak days of autumn now reign on the earth, “The wind in the forests howls shrilly.” “At Peter Nielsen’s I spent the night, “He sang so mightily to me, “That through the forest, and through the flood “He irresistibly drew me.