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Go, mingle yet once more
Tongues of the dead, not lost,
Glimmer, as funeral lamps.
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!
THERE is one poem in this volume, in reference to which a few introductory remarks may be useful. It is The Children of the Lord's Supper, from the Swedish of Bishop Tegnér; a poem which enjoys no inconsiderable reputation in the North of Europe, and for its beauty and simplicity merits the attention of English readers. It is an Idyl, descriptive of scenes in a Swedish village; and belongs to the same class of poems, as the Luise of Voss and the Hermann und Dorothea of Gothe. But the Swedish Poet has been guided by a surer taste, than his German predecessors. His tone is pure and
elevated; and he rarely, if ever, mistakes what is trivial for what is simple.
There is something patriarchal still linger ing about rural life in Sweden, which renders it a fit theme for song. Almost primeval simplicity reigns over that Northern land,almost primeval solitude and stillness. You pass out from the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. Around you are forests of fir. Overhead hang the long, fan-like branches, trailing with moss, and heavy with red and blue cones. Under foot is a carpet of yellow leaves; and the air is warm and balmy. On a wooden bridge you cross a little silver stream; and anon come forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. Wooden fences. divide the adjoining fields. Across the road are gates, which are opened by troops of children. The peasants take off their hats. as you pass; you sneeze, and they cry, “God bless you." The houses in the villages and smaller towns are all built of hewn timber,