FREDERIKSBORG CASTLE 



are reflected grand old beeches. The woods all 

 round the castle are old and splendid. There 

 was in former times a renowned Stud of white 

 horses, called " The Frederiksborg Breed," but 

 it no longer exists. 



I close these paragraphs on Denmark with 

 a song, said every night in the capital, as in 

 the smallest towns of the kingdom, the first song 

 a man hears in his cradle, and the last he will 

 hear on his death-bed, a song of the streets, full 

 of a sublime and nai've poetry : 



Entends^ Veilleur de nuit, 

 L'Horloge a sonne huit heures. 



HUIT HEURES 

 Quand la nuit couvre la terre 

 Et que le jour s'evanouif, 

 C'est rheure de nous rappeler 

 Le sombre tombeau. 

 Guide ', doux Jesus ! 

 Chacun de nos pas 

 Jusqu au tombeau, 

 Ef accorde-nous une mort heureuse. 



NEUF^HEURES 

 Void que le jour a disparu 

 Et que la nuit a penetre par tout ; 



