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2 7 I, as a singer, must know ev’ry feeling, Which might a lover rejoice, For ev’ry thought in a lover’s mind stealing Must be explained by my voice. Fly, birdie, fly o’er Fura’s water swelling, Far, far away in the Blue. Near lonesome beach in the wood is the dwelling, Where darling mine waits me true. Golden her curl is, that evening breeze shakes, Straight upright is she, light her gait, Dark-blue her eyes are and rosy her cheeks; Oh, I feel sure, thou know’st her straight. Fly, birdie, fly, o’er Fura’s waters roaring, Deeply is groaning the night, Trees whistle timidly as if imploring, And with a bow they wish good-night. Did’st thou not listen to manifold pains, That suffer must thy fellow-bird? Say the good-night, that my courage sustains, Say it, for thou know’st the word.

23. Jutland. Words by H. C. Andersen . — Music by P. Heise.

Jutland ’twixt two oceans stoutly Like a Runic-wand was laid, Runes are viking-graves that proudly Glitter through the beech-wood’s shade, And on heath-tracts earnest, wide, Here where desert’s phantoms 'bide. Jutland thou’rt my dearest country, Hilly, woody, lonesome, grave; Lyme-grass far in West as sentry Stands on dune-hill near the wave; Over Skagen’s shoals unite North and Baltic Sea’s foam white. Jutland ’twixt two oceans stoutly Like a Runic-wand was laid; Time of yore thy graves tell loudly, Future will thy glory spread; Ocean's voice will always boast In the praise of Jutland’s coast.

24. Faoetious ditty. Words by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson. — Music by P. Heise.

»Dance«, cried the fiddle And laughed at the string, So bailiff's young man Sprang up and said: »HoU