Collected Works of Johan Ludvig Runeberg

by Johan Ludvig Runeberg

But with a smile Oihonna sees her friend.

  V

  “Hidallan’s daughter, come,” she says; “his flight

  The trembling guest of hilly tracts has finished.

  The night is sweet, more coolly stirs its breath

  About my shoulder now the fluttering locks.

  VI

  “Sing me a song till in the eastern porch

  The soft moon shows and lights the moorland pathways.

  Last time my cold heart’s victims were thy theme;

  I love not sadness, sing more gaily now.”

  VII

  And pale-faced Gylnandyne sat down and sang;

  The tearful eye was lifted up to heaven.

  Within the dim-blue ocean of the sky

  There swam a single cloud; she watched its course.

  VIII

  “Joy of hoar chief Crualin, where art thou?”

  Rang out her voice, “is yonder cloud thy dwelling?

  Step forth then to its silver fringe; look down,

  Here breathes Oihonna, thy delight is here.

  IX

  “Within thy father’s burg, O Le, of yore

  Thine eye met Gylnandyne with brightened glances.

  To Morven didst thou track her steps, to be

  A guest within the land of tuneful harps.

  X

  “About these highlands then thou oft wast seen,

  When wide throughout the sunny realms of evening

  Sounded thy love’s alluring, merry horn.

  Upon Oihonna here thy glances fell.

  XI

  “Who sees her, and forgets not all that he

  In life had dreamt of as the most delightful?

  I looked at thee, thou saw’st Oihonna alone.

  I withered; thou, say, didst thou bloom thyself?

  XII

  “Thy lip grew mute, thy smile died out, thy cheek

  Was like a cloud, a fog of tears; thou wand’redst

  A bloodless shadow in the brilliant day,

  An errant air-waft on the moor by night.

  XIII

  “And so one morning cam’st thou back alone,

  Stol’st, in unwonted play, from glittering quiver,

  Oihonna’s open quiver, an arrow keen,

  And hidst it in thy bosom deep in blood.

  XIV

  “The harp of victory has no note for thee,

  And memory’s wing unlifteth not thine honour.

  Untimely ceased thine arm from deeds of fame.

  O Le, ’tis but a girl that sings thy fall!

  XV

  “Alack, her tones are not the minstrel’s, nor

  To them thou, shadow on the clouds, wilt listen!

  Alas! her sorrow moves thee not; the grief

  Is not Oihonna’s, not thy own love’s plaint.

  XVI

  “Fly, song, like faint air on the moor, that none

  Will heed, none answer; take my sigh and hush it

  To sleep within the arms of night; in time

  I, like the sigh, shall fall asleep, e’en I!”

  XVII

  She ceased. And for farewell the flying song

  Sent back from hill and dale and wave an echo.

  And lonely now ‘mong rocks afar there strove

  With silence, Crona, but thy muffled roar.

  XVIII

  Then, in the light of silent, friendly stars,

  Oihonna lifted up her beaming glances;

  And gently giving Gylnandyne her hand,

  Spake thus the maiden of the chilly waves —

  XIX

  “‘A nipping blast from fell-tops,’ says the song,

  ‘Oihonna plays with flowerets of the valley;

  She is a wave that glitters in the sun,

  Her eye speaks fire, her bosom hides but ice.’

  XX

  “Oh, I was born to be no blast, no wave,

  Though my delight is kindled not as others’.

  There beats a maiden’s warm and throbbing heart

  Beneath my snow here also with desire.

  XXI

  “But why is found in Morven now no race

  Of heroes such as bygone times could boast of?

  For Fingal’s kin too heavy is his shield,

  A pensive bard stirs feebly Ossian’s strings.

  XXII

  “I have already heard enough of sighs,

  Cost tears enough the pining sons of Morven;

  With their love I was not in love myself,

  My grief I gave them, I could do no more.

  XXIII

  “When will in storm my thunder-cloud appear?

  Youth of my dreams, when wilt thou show, declaring

  In din of war, with flash of gleaming sword,

  The flame I have enkindled in thy breast?

  XXIV

  “Hark thou, pale Gylnandyne, and learn for once

  What sound in song will take Oihonna’s fancy!

  Ask no lament, my tale is fresh, a wind

  Blows through it from the mountains of the North.

  XXV

  “The saga telleth: Far in Lochlin sat,

  Lord of a peaceful realm, the monarch Fialar,

  Called Lodin’s tempest in his days of youth;

  O’er lands and seas he’s unforgotten still.

  XXVI

  “But aged he had grown and tired of war,

  Drank mead, made laws, and gathered in his tribute.

  Disused, his sword could scarcely be unsheathed,

  And stripped his galleys lay about the shore.

  XXVII

  “One day a youth stepped up before the king,

  It was his very son, he had none other;

  With life’s bright spring within his eye he looked

  Upon the aged lord, and spake and said —

  XXVIII

  “‘Build me a dragon, father, fit me out!

  The paths of thine own youth allure my fancy;

  My arm is strong, hot boils my blood. I long

  Away out of the sultry dale of home!’

  XXIX

  “The old lord sat in silence. But his son

  Grew warmer: ‘Grant,’ he said, ‘my prayer,

  O father! I can no longer tarry fameless here

  And hear thee, thee alone, in minstrels’ songs.

  XXX

  “‘Light unto me already is thy shield;

  By these hands like a twig thy bow is bended.

  The world where thou thy victories hast won

  Is open still, with room for Hialmar’s too.’

  XXXI

  “And now King Fialar sternly raised his voice —

  ‘I swore,’ he said, ‘that peace should be protected;

  My day was stormy; in a world becalmed

  Shall joyful beam my life’s declining sun.

  XXXII

  “‘From huts burnt out, from ravaged fields, in blood

  Looks war abroad with front enwrapped in darkness;

  I cherish peace; go, youth, consider that!

  Behold its face upon my smiling land!’

  XXXIII

  “The youth stood still; he held his peace, a tear

  Rolled glowing down his flaming cheek; he waited

  A while, his lustrous glance then lighted up,

  And forth he poured the torrent of his grief —

  XXXIV

  “‘Who gives thee right to sacrifice thy son

  Unto Oblivion’s night, to fate of silence?

  My life, thy gift, take back; a deedless life

  I yield thee, but the boon was worth no more.

  XXXV

  ““Tis hard to die forgot, without a name,

  But so to live is harder still, O father!

  Look not so dark! This life I cannot live;

  I can obey, and I obey and die.’

  XXXVI

  “The old king paused awhile with ire concealed.

  An icy calm lay in the words
he uttered —

  ‘ The ship thou crav’st I give thee; she has been

  Laid up since first I went on Viking cruise.

  XXXVII

  “‘Her keel is cracked, her bottom grown with grass,

  And through her sides the light of day is streaming.

  Up, take her, fly o’er seas and seek thy name

  ‘Mong foreign sounds, for e’er forgot of me.’

  XXXVIII

  “And Hialmar went, he sought his father’s court,

  Where only idle childish play was cared for;

  By hands of men, once wont to grip the sword,

  Now ball was flung and ball was caught again.

  XXXIX

  “‘ Who’s here, that still loves memories of war?’

  So sounded to the warriors’ crowd his challenge.

  ‘ Who joins me for the boundless ocean’s path,

  Whereon to play a game with shields and steel?

  XL

  “‘I have a ship; her bottom’s grown with grass,

  And through her sides the light of day is streaming.

  But victories are won by men, not keels,

  And safest is of ways the conqueror’s way.’

  XLI

  “His voice struck like the rumbling thunder-car’s,

  When o’er a dull and sultry day it rolleth,

  In cloud as black as night, and flashes forth,

  And from a leaden languor wakes a world.

  XLII

  “A storm had stirred a lightly slumb’ring lake,

  That, heaving, rose again in happy billows;

  It broke its banks, and wild with doubled force

  A joyous flood burst through its prison bars.

  XLIII

  “‘To sea, to war, to victories, abroad!’

  Flew now from man to man the cry and shouting.

  Soon from their half-sunk craft, on waves defied,

  The crew beheld their dwindling native shore.

  XLIV

  “A message told the king: ‘Thy son fares forth,

  And out at sea already looms his dragon;

  Thy land’s defenceless, of its fighting men

  The best he takes off on a Viking raid.’

  XLV

  “King Fialar was enraged, his colour changed,

  His shield he smote in the resounding chamber —

  ‘To sea, my men!’ he shouted. ‘Fialar’s law

  Is outraged, and the breaker breathing still.’

  XLVI

  “But Siolf, his mate-in-arms of olden days,

  Hoary and bowed with age, spake words of warning —

  ‘Stay, King, seek not denied revenge in vain,

  And hunt with swallows not the eagles’ brood.

  XLVII

  “‘What more? Thou overtakest Hialmar, say,

  And triest with withered hand to curb the mighty;

  Will he then, in exuberant joy of strength,

  Not pay thee back thy feeble deed with scorn?’

  XLVIII

  “Not one word Fialar uttered in reply.

  Down to the strand he marched his weaponed warriors.

  His walk was slow, and on his face lay wrath

  Which, erst all fight, was now a stolid calm.

  XLIX

  “Three days he drifted o’er a trackless plain,

  Upon the fourth a galley he discovered;

  For Fialar’s dragon straight she shaped her course,

  And soon was at her goal with flapping sail.

  L

  “‘Prepare for fight, King Fialar,’ thundered out

  In Biarmish speech the captain. ‘Insolently

  Thy son has slain our king, and seized his ship.

  Atone his deed, give up thine own, and die!’

  LI

  “The first ‘mong storming warriors, he at once

  Swung high his sword up on the royal galley;

  The brunt was hard, with equal equal fought,

  Yet thinner grew King Fialar’s yielding host.

  LII

  “At last around the king stood but a guard

  Of faithful men-at-arms from days departed;

  And Fialar fought for victory no more,

  Fought undismayed for but a glorious fall.

  LIII

  “But, lo, unheeded in the heat of fight,

  There now shot forth a ship o’er mounted billow;

  The stem was gilt, the sail of purple cloth,

  And from the top the Gothic wimple streamed.

  LIV

  “She cleft her way at steady pace, but swift,

  And soon round Fialar, by a troop of happy

  And fresh and fiery guests, there was revived

  The closing banquet of the bloody swords.

  LV

  “It ceased not till the sun sank in the west,

  When of the Biarm-host fell the last survivor,

  And Fialar gained the day. But dark he stood

  With naked steel still brandished in his hand.

  LVI

  “‘Not yet my sword may rest.’ So sounded now

  The voice of aged Fialar, deep and trembling.

  ‘My work’s half done, the boldest of the foes

  I still behold here standing unsubdued.

  LVII

  “‘The Biarm was not mine enemy, not for him

  Did I exchange for th’ ocean’s storms my quiet;

  I went ‘gainst him who boldly mocked my will,

  And made a plaything of the oath I swore.

  LVIII

  “‘Come forth, thou man in visored helm, whose deed

  I chasten with the scourge of tongue but feebly.

  I mean to speak in different language now,

  That cuts, may be, with yet a keener edge.

  LIX

  “‘Step forth, thy father calls thee out to fight;

  Unsheath against him now the sword he gave thee;

  Or else come humbled hither, bend thy knee

  And die, with guilt atoned, here at his feet.’

  LX

  “He paused. A hum, dull as a sighing wave’s,

  Died slowly down among the gathered warriors;

  And silent, dread alone and threatening stood

  In expectation still the Gothfolk’s king.

  LXI

  “Then laid the victor, Hialmar, sword and shield

  Upon the ship’s blood-spattered deck in silence,

  And stepped unweaponed to his father forth,

  And fell on knee obeisant at his feet.

  LXII

  “Flashed Fialar’s blade against the evening’s sun,

  At Hialmar’s head he aimed the blow, which, falling

  With force, rang shrilly on the polished helm;

  But ne’er a tremor did the youth betray.

  LXIII

  “‘My time is passed,’ King Fialar now bewailed;

  ‘Not so I dealt the blows in days departed;

  Undo thy guard, thine head uncover, son,

  My arm’s too weak to split a helmet now!’

  LXIV

  “Then meekly Hialmar loosed the helm, and bare

  His head he offered to his father’s vengeance;

  He stood defenceless, and his only guard

  “Was frank and smiling calm upon his face.

  LXV

  “Lo, now he flinched, the ancient man! His sword,

  Raised for a death-blow, fell upon the victim

  As faint as though it sought to take its rest

  On his luxuriant ringlets’ yellow bed.

  LXVI

  “From that time forward bold and free the youth

  Proceeds from strand to strand o’er foreign waters.

  And Fialar sits at home in peaceful land,

  And in his softened heart he guards his joy.

  LXVII

  “Sometimes at night, when fills the royal burg

  With crowding guests, and foams the horn in
passing

  The guild around, and hoary minstrel smites

  The string vibrating in the mighty harp,

  LXVIII

  “And sings, forgetful of old memories’ praise,

  The youth’s new victories alone, and Hialmar,

  Hialmar, rings evermore throughout the hall,

  And Fialar, proud King Fialar is forgot;

  LXIX

  “Then sweeter tastes the mead, and then he lifts,

  All youth-revived again, his drooping forehead,

  And sends, among the tuneful play, at times,

  In beaming looks, unto the bard his thanks.”

  LXX

  Her song was sung. Dew glittered on the lea,

  And from the azure heights the moon looked downward,

  With brightened eye, upon that realm of calm

  Where, hushed of walk, advanced the summer’s night.

  LXXI

  Then showed a man approaching o’er the moor,

  Who, coming, said:— “I’ve sought thy steps, Oihonna,

  From Morven’s king I bring thee word; bestir!

  For he expects thee ere to-morrow’s dawn.”

  LXXII

  “Thou, man of flying words,” the girl replied,

  “What moves the aged lord thus to recall me?

  Has death then breathed upon his withered limbs?

  Say, is he wending to the spirits’ home?”

  LXXIII

  The corner spake: “I heard the clang of arms

  From halls within the burg. The lord o’ the tower

  Has three times smitten shield; from lip to lip

  The war-cry passes. But I know no more.”

  LXXIV

  Oihonna rose with brightened face. “Thou, man,

  Thy task is done,” she said; “his daughter’s greeting,

  Go, take thou back to Morven’s king: she sees

  Within his tower how dawns to-morrow’s morn.”

  KING FILIAR. SONG IV

  Why tarries longer now the son of Fialar?

  Has Innishonna lulled into repose

  In the still night of groves his warlike spirit?

  Has Hialmar grown forgetful of his word?

  I

  UPON the strand of Morven day is dawning,

  And greyer in the twilight on the crag

  Uplifted looms the tower of King Morannal;

  In haze beneath the ocean heaves its sighs.

  II

  But thou appearest not as yet, Oihonna,

  Thou, sea-born maiden, say, where dreamest thou?

  Arise; Morannal yearns for thy returning,

  The aged lord is pining for his light.

  III

  He sees not how the night has fled already,

  For in his eyes an endless night abides;

  No more beholds he how the bridal visage

  Of earth appears beneath the morning’s kiss.

  IV

  Still feels he from the windows of his turret

  The re-awakened breezes at their play.