er'd by them, on the hill, without power to offer
resistance.

'T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who may ride in the
forest so dreary,
Ne'er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to be ever so
weary.

WALDEMAR'S CHASE.

The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the many feats
of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an account of whom,
and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both spectres of a similar
character, may be found in Thiele's Danske Folkesagn.

Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank,
For in harvest men ne'er should be idle:
Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank,
And he linger'd and drew up his bridle.

"Success to your labour; and have ye to night
Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?"
"Yes, yes;" said a peasant, "I saw something white,
Just now, through the corn-stubble creeping."

"Which way did it go?" "Why methought to the beach."
Then off went Waldemar bounding;
A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech,
And the horn of the hunter resounding.

Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone,
And the blood in their veins ran the colder,
When they saw that a fresh-slaughter'd mermaid was thrown
Athwart his proud barb's dappled shoulder.

Said he, "I have chas'd her for seven score years,
As she landed to drink at the fountains."
No more did he deign to their terrified ears,
But gallop'd away to the mountains.

THE MERMAN.
FROM THE OLD DANISH.

"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain
How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain."

She made him, of water, a noble steed,
Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed.

To a young knight chang'd she then her son;
To Mary's church at full speed he's gone.

His foaming horse to the gate he bound,
And pac'd the church full three times round:

When in he walk'd with his plume on high,
The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh:

The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book;
"Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look."

Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve;
"If he were my husband I should not grieve."

He stepp'd over benches one and two:
"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you."

He stepp'd over benches two and three:
"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me."

Then said the maid, without more ado,
"Here take my troth, I will go with you."

They went from the church a bridal train,
And danc'd so gaily across t