صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So filled that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy Sun (and one would guess
By 's drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and, when he's done,
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun:
They drink and dance by their own light;
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there; for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

DRINK WHILE YOU LIVE.

(Translated by Thomas Moore.)
I CARE not for the idle state
Of Persia's king, the rich, the great!
I envy not the monarch's throne,
Nor wish the treasured gold my own.
But oh! be mine the rosy braid,
The fervor of my brows to shade:
Be mine the odors richly sighing,
Amid my hoary tresses flying.

To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine,
As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;
But if to-morrow comes, why then-
I'll haste to quaff my wine again.
And thus while all our days are bright,
Nor time has dimmed their bloomy light,

Let us the festal hours beguile

With mantling cup and cordial smile;
And shed from every bowl of wine

The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine.

For Death may come, with brow unpleasant, May come, when least we wish him present, And beckon to the sable shore,

And grimly bid us—drink no more!

A LOVER'S SIGH.

(From Moore's Translation.)

THE Phrygian rock that braves the storm
Was once a weeping matron's form;
And Procne, hapless, frantic maid,
Is now a swallow in the shade.
Oh, that a mirror's form were mine,
To sparkle with that smile divine;
And like my heart I then should be,
Reflecting thee, and only thee !
Or could I be the robe which holds
That graceful form within its folds;
Or, turned into a fountain, lave
Thy beauties in my circling wave;
Or, better still, the zone that lies
Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs!
Or like those envious pearls that show
So faintly round that neck of snow!
Yes, I would be a happy gem,

Like them to hang, to fade like them.
What more would thy Anacreon be?
Oh, anything that touches thee,
Nay, sandals for those airy feet —
Thus to be pressed by thee were sweet!

332

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

ANDERSEN, HANS CHRISTIAN, a Danish dramatist, poet, and story-writer; born at Odense, island of Fünen, April 2, 1805; died at Copenhagen, August 4, 1875. He entered the University in 1828; but before that time he had gained considerable reputation by his poems, especially by one entitled "The Dying Child." This was followed, in 1829, by a satirical narrative of "A Journey on Foot from the Holm-canal to the Eastern Point of Amak." He now fairly commenced his literary career, publishing a volume of poems in 1830, and another entitled "Fantasies and Sketches," in 1831. All of his numerous works have been translated into German, and many of them into English, French, and other languages. These translations have given him a far more extended reputation than could have been attained by their issue in their original language, which is understood by comparatively few readers. The German edition of his Complete Works comprises about fifty small volumes. Many of these books were the result of travels in various parts of Europe. In 1844, he received a pension from the Danish Government; and in 1875, upon the seventieth anniversary of his birthday, he was invested with the grand cross of the Order of Dannebrog. Some of his dramatic pieces met with a very favorable reception; but he is best known by his tales and his sketches of travel. Prominent among his works are: "The Improvisatore," which describes in a glowing style his impressions of Italy; "O. T.," a novel depicting life in Northern Europe; "Only a Fiddler," a half-autobiographic story of homely life; "A Poet's Bazaar," a collection of miscellanies; and several series of "Tales for Children." He also wrote "The Story of My Life," bringing the somewhat imaginative narrative down to 1847. This work was continued by Jonas, (1879) down to the time of Andersen's death.

THE STEADFAST TIN SOLDIER.

(From "Collected Fairy Tales.")

THERE were once twenty-five tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they were cast out of one old tin spoon. They By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

[graphic][merged small]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
« السابقةمتابعة »