The bright red sun in ocean slept;
Beneath a pine-tree Gunild wept,
And ey'd the hills with silver crown'd,
And listen'd to each little sound
That stirr'd on high.
"Thou stream," she said, "from heights above,
Flow softly to a woman's love!
As on thy azure current steering,
Flow soft, and shut not from my hearing
The sounds I love."
Ere chased the more the night-cloud pale,
He sought the deer in distant dale;
" Farewell!" he said, "when evening closes,
Expect me where the moon reposes
On yonder vale."
"Return, return, my Harold dear!
This wedded bosom pants with fear;
By woodland foe I deem thee dying;
Oh come! and hear the rocks replying
To Gunild's joy."
Then horns and hounds came pealing wide,
" 'Tis he! 'tis he!" fair Gunild cried;
"Ye winds, to Harold bear my cry!"
And rocks and mountains answer'd high
"Tis he! 'tis he!"
Peter Andreas Heiberg (1758 – 1841) Denmark
Translated by William Sidney Walker
Source: Poems, from the Danish selected by Andreas Andersen Feldborg and translated by William Sidney Walker, Thomas Dobson, 1815
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