POETRY.

THE ENGLISH CAPTAIN.

(FREELY RENDERED FRO7d THE NORWEGIAN.)

OVER the Kattegat flood, from the rock-bound precipice straining, Straining with heart and eye, the Swedes looked down on the English—

Looked on the English fleet, which lay in wait on the waters, Purpose and aim unknown—to Swede and Briton a riddle. Halted the fleet outside, where over the Sound looms Kronberg ; And, as on wings of the storm, swept Doubt, not Fear, over Denmark.

Lying with lashed-up sail, the halls all crowded and hollow, While with satisfied smile was rocking the deep dark ocean, Eager, alert, and bold, the bluejackets waited for orders— Ever in every land the same wherever you find them, Keen on the laurel's quest, for the rich red roses of Honour. There from the Admiral's ship the big flag bravely was flying, There, at the dawn of day, grew sudden the haste and commotion : All awaited the hour when the sealed-up word should be given, All looked straight at the seal, when there the Admiral broke it "Sail out yonder, where lies the Danish fleet at her anchors Safe in the nest, whence you shall draw her to open battle Out of the harbour's clasp. First offer her peace; then fight her."

Loud rang out on the deck the wild glad cheers of the sailors, Faces grew bright with joy, and awake for glory and plunder; Every man's hope ran high—save his, his only, amongst them. Calmly one captain—young--stood back in the common rapture ; Calmly he craved his leave to speak to the great commander.

Admiral," so he spake, "I was but a lad when I started— Started at Aboukir, on board a warship of Nelson, So that at fifteen years Fame found me a practised wooer. Many a mad Korsar, far off in the tropical Indies, After a hand-to-hand fight, have I taken and hanged to the yard-arm ; Wounded at Trafalgar, my wound is hidden by medals.

War to the knife, fierce France! and proudly shall History note it; Death to the pirate-foe! and death did I deal to him gladly ; God and King George! I cried, when I fired on Napoleon's squadrons ; Ever for them fight I, but for wrong and robbery, never :

False rings your statecraft's note, and falsely misleads your sailors—

Steer for the passes of right, and the stars of God are your compass : But—I will never break the oath that I swore to England, I will keep it to death—till death will I do my duty : There is no danger here to your fleet, but all to my honour : Sail as you will—I go in quest of other adventure, For in the Scripture of old my unsealed orders are written— More than Imperial Rome, the Lord thy God is the master." Then he sprang from the deck, and the waves rolled sullenly o'er him.

Dreamer or fanatic ! fool or madman ! whatever you call him, Down to the bottom he swam; and there in the mystical regions, There between beasts with fins, and plants that thrive without daylight, Into the dank sea-weeds he plunged, and was lost, and buried.

On sailed the English fleet to the city of Copenhagen ;

Far from the place he lay, the place where the fight was foughten,

He—a water-cold corpse, and hid by the cold steel water ; There, on a starlight night, some Swedish fishermen found him,

Bore him in boat to the shore, and tossed for his epaulettes, star- lit.

North there of Helsingborg, by the famous lands of La Gadies, Tearless and sorrowless he, without landmark or watermark, rested : O'er a. neglected grave the seagulls hover about him, Treading the air around, the thin, keen air of the northland : Yet sometimes from the spot does a ghost peer out in the shadow, Gaze on the sea and fade away in the ghostlier moonlight, Straining and Straining still, for the coast of the great coal island.

HERMAN MicaivaLs.