One of the classic poems of Danish literature, by Johannes Ewald (1775)

The delights of Rungsted. An Ode

In shadows refreshing,

        In darkness from roses now stealing;

Where busily nesting

        The songstress her home is revealing –,

        Where streams whose carousing

        Now lulls, now is rousing

The Muses’ best darling, the sentient bard,

        With murmurings close to the heart –

Where cattle are lowing,

        At woodland-sons’ fleet gallivanting,

And breathe hard at knowing

        The plenty in which they are panting –

        Where reapers are singing,

        Midst golden stacks swinging,

And count out their treasure and let cries resound

        To him who their hope now has crowned.

Where, skittishly playing,

        Waves wash o’er the roamer, who quick-eyed

First finds his gaze straying

        At Helsinge’s grey-shaded hillside

        Then wond’ringly hastens

        Through forests of masts and

Inspects, then makes out foreign flags straight away,

        Forgetting the fast-waning day. –

Where balm of the lonely,

        Sweet slumber so gently relieving,

Louise oft solely

        Could help one forget the heart’s grieving –

        Where joys offer home, a

        Repose for the roamer,

Where Rungsted encloses delights pure and chaste:

        There did the muse fill my breast.

Where pain and affliction,

        With joy found your imprint, Oh High One,

The pure heart’s depiction

        By every compassionate eye won –

        Where friendship adds worth to

        The strictest of virtues;

There did my song grow; and the forest in awe

        Re-echoed the Great Maker’s law.

I saw your thrones gleam too,

        Almighty! – my gaze all aquiver –

But tones divine passed through

        The strings with each shiver –

        Each leaf where I sighted

        The High One ignited

My soul – and exulted at which my song swelled! –

        The mighty sound could not be quelled! –

Oh all the Worlds’ Father! –

        So sang I – You Strong One! – You Wise One!

God! Whom myriads are

        Now praising as do heaven’s prized ones!

        See, how dust can carry

        Your plenty, your glory,

Your goodness, oh Father! – so sang I – and joy

        My lips’ quaking sound did employ. –

O poet most blissful,

        That gladness bade come to his dwelling;

To duties most cheerful,

        To freedom, through virtues compelling! –

        All cherubs while winging

        His bold voice hear ringing,

And heavens are gathered around him; and joy

        Unfolds in man’s breast, ne’er to cloy.

But you, you alone drew

        From anguish such joy beyond measure

Say! – has my muse power to

        Unfold in your heart greatest pleasure?

        O sweet friend, recite me! –

        Can song’s goddess lightly

With soft-melting notes the lap then reward

        That me such delight did afford? –