Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay To the chimes that, through the night, TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK. WELCOME, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside, Shake the windows. The ungrateful world Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, There are marks of age, There are thumb-marks on thy margin, Soiled and dull thou art; Yellow are thy time-worn pages As the russet, rain-molested Leaves of autumn. Thou art stained with wine Yet dost thou recall Days departed, half-forgotten, When I paused to hear The old ballad of King Christian Shouted from suburban taverns Thou recallest bards Who, in solitary chambers, And with hearts by passion wasted, Wrote thy pages. Thou recallest homes Where thy songs of love and friendship Made the gloomy northern winter Bright as summer. Once some ancient Skald, Once in Elsinore, At the court of old King Hamlet, Once Prince Frederick's Guard Joined the chorus! Peasants in the field, Sailors on the roaring ocean, Students, tradesmen, pale mechanics, All have sung them. Thou hast been their friend; They, alas! have left thee friendless! |