the Queen has a pitying breast,
She will straw send us whereon to rest.

“The hunger within us is sharp and strong,
Our hearts must certainly burst ere long.”

Then Brouk at that word so wrathful grew,
The keys he into the salt fiord threw.

Twas dismal to hear how with hunger they roared,
Each others shoulders they devoured.

And there is yet more woe to relate,
The flesh from the sides of each other they ate.

Much misery and woe there was that tide,
In each other’s arms the brothers died.

And thus things stood till five months were fled,
King Byrge came home from the war-field red.

“Now whither departed are brothers mine?
Why didst thou not give them their fill of wine?”

Then answered straight the little child:
“Brouk into the tower the nobles beguiled.”

King Byrge peeped in the window through,
The state of the brothers was piteous to view.

“Now hear thou, Brouk, straight to me declare,
Where the prison keys are I gave to thy care?”

“May the blessed Christ my soul ne’er save,
If I cast them not in the briny wave.”

“O Brouk, shame fall thy head upon,
So evilly towards me thou has done.

“Thou fool and villain!  I’ve lost thereby
The keys to Sweden’s sovereignty.”

“If I have betrayed thy brothers twain,
Thou mayest alone over Sweden reign.”

That deed such grief to the Dukes’ friends gave,
And that grief they carried to the grave.

With his Queen King Byrge must fly from his throne,
Beheaded was Magnus, his beautiful son.

But Brouk to the infamous wheel was consigned,
May all such traitors a like end find!

When sovereigns many there are to a land,
You’ll never see them go hand in hand.

The one ’fore the other must certainly fall,
Not seldom destruction comes o’er them all.

Though fraud and deceit for a time have success,
At length on their owner they’ll bring distress.

TURKISH HYMN TO MAHOMET

O envoy of Allah, to thee be salaam,
With my whole heart I love thee, O blest be thy name.
At the high throne of God thou for sinners dost plead
Who forgives for thy sake each iniquitous deed.
O Prophet of Allah, for all that I’ve done
Of rebellion against Him, tis thou must atone.
For Thou art the one intercessor, Thou, Thou—
The prince of the prophets to whom the rest bow.
In the world’s Judgment Day when all nations are met,
When good deeds and bad in the balance are set,
Intercession I hope for, from Thee, only Thee,
So breathe intercession for me, wretched me.

’Tis true my misdeeds I’m unable to count,
But I know that thy goodness exceeds their amount.
Like one who’s defunct I a long time have been,
My body is drowned in an ocean of sin.
My rebellions they be of so dreadful a die
That to wend to my Maker no courage have I.
Now save I in dust at thy feet myself throw,
And thy footstool I strike with my agonis’d brow;
And save thou for me dost benignantly speak,
What for me will remain but despairing to shriek?
For unless I thy kind intercession procure,
My soul with the Kaffirs will torments endure.
But I trust thou wilt that for thy servant employ’
And that rest I shall gain, and unspeakable joy.
Unto thee without end shall be praises and prayers,
And also to them, thy disciples and