Shed witching light, and o'er the golden bay
Scarce did they feel the happy bark advance;
Until at last the hour approached when they
Must interchange adieu, and Adam broke
The sacred stillness, and to Alma spoke :

"Thou sittest there, as if thou wert belonging
To the strange spirit-world that round thee lies;
O let us not the farewell-hour be wronging
By silence, but beneath these holy skies
Upon me breathe the breath of Paradise
Once more amid the cares around me thronging;
Sweet! speak one word,-a talisman to charm
Far, far away from me all future harm."

She bent on him the orbs of azure light
Which, in that vision, long had drooping lain,
And softly answered, "I will not complain,
No grief of mine the farewell-hour will blight;
Hope's brimming beaker let us rather drain,
And part, confiding in the future bright.
As lovers halve a coin to seal their troth,
We halve the sorrow now between us both.

Keep thou thy share until we meet in spring,

I will my own as jealously be keeping;

That so the seed-time of our tears may bring
After long months, to each a joyous reaping.
And when again the birds begin to sing,

And new-born blossoms from the earth are peeping,
Then day by day I'll wander on the strand,"
In hopes to see thy longed-for vessel land.

"But, O, through all thy journeyings, forget not
The friends whom thou hast left at home with me;
And if misfortune come, then idly fret not,
Remember that whate'er thy life may be,

This breast is still thy resting-place, and set not
A limit to the love I feel for thee!"

"Dearest!" he breathed, "my heart to God is known; In every pulse it throbs to thine alone.

"Believe not that I hide within my soul

From thee one thought, the germ of coming sorrow;
Though sometimes o'er me waves of passion roll,
Those very billows thy sweet image borrow
And only mirror it,-and now the whole
Fair future shines with promise of the morrow,
When, anchored on Affection's golden shore,
Wedded to thee, I seek to roam no more."

So, in the spirit of blest self-surrender,
They interchanged the words of love unbounded,
And, in accordance with those accents tender,
Nature's deep harmonies their souls surrounded;
Above, the heaven waved its wings of splendour,
Beneath, the music of the ocean sounded;
And echoes woke in each melodious breeze
To blend their chiming with the chiming seas.

It was as if creation opened wide
The portals of its glory to the twain,

And, at the self-same moment, deeply sighed,
Because that glory is a vision vain.

Up flashed each billow in aspiring pride,
But scarcely caught the star-glint, till again,
While to its lustrous dream it bade farewell,
Back in the darkness of the deep it fell.

Little did they know the future. On reaching Corsör, Adam learns the fact of his mother's death, and, overwhelmed with sorrow, steps on board the packet that is to convey him to Veile. As ill luck would have it, his fellow-passenger, in the short voyage across the Belt, is no other than the old Queen of Hearts, the paradox of women, the all too fascinating Countess Clara. Homo would fain avoid her, but no mode of escape is possible. Lavishing upon him the old gracious smiles, and treating him with the old resistless witchery, she draws him after her in spite of his better self, and the whole time inwardly revolting against the fatal yoke. On the joint invitation of herself and (for she is now married) her husband, Kammerherre Galt, a perfect incarnation of titled duluess and stupidity, he is constrained, notwithstanding his earnest protestations, to pass a day or two at their country seat in the island of Funen. Once there, and fully in the hands of the enchantress, he remains, we grieve to say, for long weeks and months, with the sacred image of Alma gradually fading from his memory, and unable to break the spell that fetters him to Clara. Visits paid by princes and nobles to the Kammerherre's island residence supply rich matter for another series of the poet's vivid pictures of social life. Happily, before Adam's infatuation has passed, as it might so easily have done, the boundary line of crime, he is incidentally awakened to a sense of his true position. Recoiling with horror from the precipice, on the brink of which he stands, he flies in hot haste from the castle, and, agitated by a thousand conflicting emotions and bitter memories, takes ship from Funen to his Jutland home.

There his father receives him kindly, but, shrewd and time-serving as before, has a plan in view for Adam's future prosperity, which sadly conflicts with the allegiance the latter owes to Alma, whose image, now that he has escaped from the snares of the countess, begins to shine with something of the old lustre in his heart. Pastor Homo's neighbour and patron is a certain baron of the old school, jovial, rough, and hearty-blessed with abundance of the world's goods, and an only daughter in addition. Free from Clara's coquettishness, and utterly devoid of Alma's spirituality, this girl, the Baroness Emilie, or Millè, no great beauty, but sufficiently clever and accomplished, appertains to the "fast young lady" genus in its most strongly pronounced form, and both says and does the queerest things by way of asserting the great doctrine of female emancipation, in which she is a confirmed believer. It is on her that old Homo fixes as

an every way desirable wife for his son. He solemnly sets before Adam the overwhelming advantages of such a match, and, after a short internal struggle, the fickle lover renounces the pure and simple-minded daughter of the old Copenhagen gardener, and devotes himself, heart and soul, to woo the Baroness Millè. The real and the ideal tendencies of his nature

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have come into collision-the earthly and the heavenly elements have fought within his breast for victory; and the result is what might have been expected from any one so constituted as Pastor Homo's son. For the poet invariably represents him to our gaze encircled by no halo of heroic radiance; his object is to delineate mere ordinary humanity, ever and anon succumbing in its conflict with the powers of darkness. And, therefore, however broadly we may stigmatise Adam's conduct, we feel that his doubts and subsequent decision are true to the what steps he attains the successful issue of his courtship, we cannot now describe. Suffice it to say, that the goal is triumphantly reached at last, very life. By and he becomes the accepted suitor of the baroness. the poem is remarkable for the faithful accuracy of its descriptions of rural scenery and rural character-descriptions through which the All this portion of bracing country air seems ever freshly breathing, and where even the boors themselves, however coarse, and however rude, are still occasionally elevated to the position of poetic figures. What can be finer in its way, for example, than the following account of a harvest-home ball, given by the baron to his peasantry-a scene such as Jan Steen or Wilkie would have delighted to paint, and he who wrote the world-famous "Tam o' Shanter" would have loved to sing?

Just as they entered, where the lanterns' ray

Lit up a scene of rustic pomp and state,
And shoes of wood belaboured floor of clay,

The

poor old dotard herdsman, as his mate

(So through the crowd they scarce could push their way)
Was whirling round and round old crazy Kate;
Horse-laughter o'er the couple bellowed fast,
And reached its climax when they fell at last.

Away flew Hanna with the steward Hans,
That mountain pile of muscle and of bone,
Who tumbled her about in roughsome dance;
While, all the time, our hero stood alone
In the far corner, with his sulky glance,
And cut a wretched figure, we must own.
Hope from his soul appeared the further sundered,
The more the dancers' feet beside him thundered.

Forth from the orchestra, arranged quite handy
On barrel-heads with leafy garlands bound,
Shrilled wild the music-while the air around
Was fragrant with the steam of boors and brandy;
This gust of rural life and nature sound,
Our Adam, though himself no scented dandy,
Could barely tolerate; he sought the door,
But stumbled on the baron-frightful bore!
Released at last, impatience made him bolder,
And drew him near the baroness, where she,
Resting her head upon her partner's shoulder,
Whirled through the circle fast as fast could be,
While in one arm he managed to enfold her,
And flourished in mid-air the other free;
She, still unwearied, vied with his agility,
And on his capers lavished sweet civility.

The instant that the waltz was done beheld

Our hero to the side of Millè steal,

And crave her (while his breast with passion swelled) To dance with him the "molinask" and reel.

"Oh, surely !"-and her smile his fears dispelled,"But first a drink, to quench the thirst I feel!" Panting, her limbs she on a settle threw,

While for the needed punch away he flew.

Crash went the band-and now, while all the ring
Of standers-by applausive voices raised,

Off sped the three, up-borne by music's wing.
The ancient crones glowered at the sight amazed;
The lads and lasses, filled with rapture, gazed
On Adam's easy gait, and buoyant spring,
On Hanna's feet, that twirled so deftly pattering,
On Mille's, like two frantic drumsticks clattering.
Louder and louder still the fiddles sounded,
And the spectators' glee increased the more,—
Faster and faster Hanna's tread rebounded,
Higher and higher Adam seemed to soar;
And Mille's feet, as if by furies hounded,
Wilder and wilder smote the earthen floor;
In one spot now, next moment in another,
Like frenzied folk they span around each other.

No longer with the dull oppression laden
That changed the revelry to solitude,
He marked its shifting scenes in altered mood:
Here, to the corner bounced some blowzy maiden
To re-arrange the dress she was arrayed in,-
There, round a chest a group of women stood,
While on the lid reclined a hunchback crouching,
Whose ribbons dangled from its head-dress slouching.

Upon the dancers gazed this figure queer,

And wagged its tongue past power of human thought,—
The groaning sideboard Adam meanwhile sought,
Where bulky barrels overflowed with beer,
And half a score of rustic greybeards wrought
Fierce devastation in the jovial cheer;

But others, while the waggish coachman joked,
Crowding the entrance, idly laughed and smoked.

So, through the tangled maze his pathway threading,
He gained at last the door, that stood ajar,
At once from tumult into silence treading,-
Silence that fell on him from worlds afar;
Above, the azure gleamed with many a star,
Below, the dew its floor of pearls was spreading;
No sound he heard, save when the breezes swayed
The poplars, and a murmurous music made.

There, left alone with God, his bosom heaves,
And to the light above he lifts his eye,

Where, from the starry signs of Time, it weaves
The golden wreath that crowns Eternity;

But soon the blissful trance his spirit leaves,
Dispelled by fiddles' scream and clarions' cry,
And back he steps to where, in wild confusion,
The dancers gathered for the grand conclusion.

The roguish Millè is the first to hail him,
While in the final dance she claims his hand;
He, nothing loath, the words that thus assail him
Reciprocates, and yields to her command;
Nor do companions in the circle fail him,-
They flock together, and compose a band
That, ring-like, in its centre hides from view
Baron and priest, and a remaining few.

At first, the whole unbroken chain of dancers
Flies round, obedient to the same beliest;
Next, as to such amusement fitly answers,
The ladies draw apart from all the rest,
Then charging down, like Amazonian lancers,
Each takes the partner that she likes the best;
In fine,-what pleased the peasants most of all,-
Uproarious drollery concludes the ball.

For loud the tumult grows, as Millè humbles
Herself to humour them, and never halts

Till whisking round the priest, who blindly stumbles,
Dragged on by her, across the barn she vaults,-
While to the ground the baron well-nigh tumbles,
Whirled off by Hanna in a Holstein waltz,-

A shout arose that rang from floor to rafter,

All, from the goose-boy upwards, shook with laughter.

In due time Adam, through his future father-in-law's influence, receives from court a "Hofjunker's" patent, the first step of advancement in his succeeding ambitious career. The marriage is celebrated, and he and Millè take up their residence in the capital. By a strange coincidence, Alma gets a glimpse of him as he enters one of the gates of Copenhagen, accompanied by his bride, and she returns home to bid eternal farewell to her faithless lover's memory, and seek, in fellowship with heaven, the happiness she has lost on earth. Her resolution and her prayer are described in fifteen or sixteen stanzas of great beauty. From the period of his marriage onwards, the career of Adam Homo is one of fame, wealth, and all manner of external prosperity. He realises everything the world can offer to its votaries, and although the nobler ideal striving still sometimes puts forth its influence within his spirit, it falls far short, in purity and energy, of the divine power that occasionally swayed him in former and better years. There is little incident, strictly speaking, in this section of the book, which is chiefly remarkable for the Teniers-like fidelity with which the author, on the one hand, reproduces in his pages the varied aspects of Copenhagen life, and, on the other, for the Protean ease with which he passes, not unfrequently, to the contemplation of profound philosophic truths. But the true poetic fire blazes out with special radiance at the close, where Homo, in his mortal sickness, worn out with the discordant opinions of his medical attendants, and their perpetual mutual wranglings, chooses of his own accord the public hospital as the place where he may most reasonably expect a cure.