Our native land has ever teem'd
With warriors gallant-hearted.
And Hvidfeld's fame shall ne'er decay,
His gallant seamens' never;
A worthy countryman shall they
In every Dane find ever;
When Denmark dear to us shall cry,
Like them will we grim death defy.
Our native ground shall still abound
With warriors gallant-hearted.
BIRTING.
A Fragment.
From the Ancient Danish.
It was late at evening tide,
Sinks the day-star in the wave,
When alone Orm Ungarswayne
Rode to seek his father's grave.
Late it was at evening hour,
When the steeds to streams are led;
Let me now, said Orm the young,
Wake my father from the dead.
It was bold Orm Ungarswayne
Stamp'd the hill with mighty foot:
Riv'n were wall and marble-stone,
Shook the mountain to its root.
It was bold Orm Ungarswayne
Struck the hill with such a might,
That it was a miracle,
That the hill fell not outright.
From the hill Orm's father cried,
Where so long, so long he'd lain;
"Cannot I in quiet lie
Deep within my dark domain?
Who upon my hill doth stand?
Who doth dare disturb my bones?
Cannot I in quiet lie
'Neath my heavy roof of stones?
Who doth dare my sleep to scare?
Who brings down this ruin all?
Let him fear, for now I swear
That by Birting he shall fall.
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