From Heiberg

Thou who the strand dost wander, Thy steps, O traveller, stay! Turn to the island yonder, And listen to my lay. Thy every meditation Bid hither, hither stray: On yonder banks its station Had once a Castelaye.

In long past days in glory It stood, and grandeur sheen Now 'twas so transitory Its ruins scarce are seen. But in old days I warrant Its equal was not found; From every side apparent High tower'd it from the ground.

For no sea-king intended I ween was yonder hold; Urania, it ascended In praise of thee so bold. Close by the ocean roaring, Far, far from mortal jars, It stood tow'rds heaven soaring, And tow'rds the little stars.

A gate in the wall eastward, Display'd its mighty mouth; There was another westward, And spires stood north and south. The dome itself, high rearing, A slender spirelet bore, Upon it, ever veering, A Pegasus gilt o'er.

Towers which the sight astounded In north and south were plac'd; Upon strong pillars founded, And with fair galleries grac'd. And there caught the attention Of those that thither stroll'd, Quadrants of hugh dimension, And speres in frames that roll'd.

From yonder Castle, gazing Across the isle, you spied The woods, their heads up-raising, And ocean's bluey tide. The halls the sight enchanted With colours bright of blee; The gardens they were planted With many a flower and tree.

When down came night careering And vanish'd was the sun, The stars were seen appearing All heaven's arch upon. Then far was heard the yelling, When you thereto gave heed, Of those that watch'd the dwelling, Four hounds of mastiff breed.

The good knight ceas'd to walk on The fields of war and gore, His helm and sword the balk on He hung, to use no more. From earth, its woe and riot, His soul had taken flight, When in his chamber quiet He sat at dead of night.

Then he his eye erected Into the night so far, And keen the course inspected Of every twinkling star. The stars his fame transported Wide over sea and land, And kings his friendship courted, And sought his islet's strand.

But point the stars from heaven To lands far o'er the main; He went, by fortune driven, And ne'er returned again. The haughty walls through sorrow Have long since sunken low, And heavy plow-shares furrow Thy house, Urania, now.

Each time the sun is sinking It friendly looks on Hveen; Its rays there linger, thinking On what the place has been. The moon hastes melancholy Past, past the coast so dear, And in love's transport holy Shines Freya's starlet clear.

Then suddenly takes to heaving Of that same ruin'd hold The basis deep, believing It is some eve of old. For many moments gladly 'Twould rise up from the mould; But ah! it can't, and sadly Sinks in death's slumber cold.