The ocean billows fret and foam no more,
But softly rush towards the pebbled shore,
On which the lindens stand, in many a group,
With leafy boughs that o'er the waters droop.
There floats one single cloudlet in the blue,
Close where the pale moon shows her face anew:
It is Minona dying there that flies, -
She sinks not!--no--she mounts unto the skies.



FRIDLEIF AND HELGA.
FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER.



The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade;
Among them walk'd Helga, the beautiful maid.

The water is dashing o'er yon little stones;
She sat down beside it, and rested her bones.

She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near,
Sir Fridleif approach'd her with sword and with spear:

"Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now,
I live, only live, on the smile of thy brow:

"In thy father's whole garden is found not a rose,