Shed a tear in passion’s fullness,
In the boy’s bright eye reflected
Saw her countenance, and smiled.
“Oh,” she sighed “may there ever,
For a memory of my rapture,
This same image in this same eye
Follow thee throughout the world!”
Who need wonder now that Eros
Hovereth amongst us blinded,
Though his sight no band impedeth
And no shades of darkness hide?
E’en among the desert’s thorns he
Seeth but Olympian mansions,
Even in the troll’s embraces
But the gentle goddess’ form.
THE GIRL’S LAMENT.
HEART, mine heart, oh had I but thee before me,
Didst thou lie, unruly one, in my hand here,
Oh, then should full quickly my care devoted
Bring to thee calmness.
As her child a mother, then would I rock thee,
Dandle thee up and down, and gently lull thee,
Till thou ceasedst whining, and calmed forgottest
Trouble in slumber.
But now dwell’st thou shut in my bosom’s prison,
Unapproachably barred to each fond devotion,
Only bared for him who, without ceasing,
Troubles thy quiet.
TO UNREST.
YES, sweetest unrest, long thou, oh long thou still!
And by no pleasure, let it be e’er so rich,
And by no brimmed enjoyment soothed,
Sigh for a happier joy for ever!
Late thy desire was only a loving look
Of one maid’s eyes; — and, now she has given one,
Step higher, and demand her first sweet
Heavenly kiss, and strive and languish.
And when on purple lips there shall bloom no more
One single rose, whose nectar thou hast not sipped,
Then hasten, nought but newer harvests
Under the full swelling veil to covet.
Yes, gentle unrest, sway thou with double might
Within my veins; and call up, with every new
Acquired laurel crown, another
Still more noble looming afar off.
Thee may the listless fool choose to barter for
A corpse of bliss, he calls by the name of peace,
And in his shell of calm and slumber
Creep like a snail upon Fortune’s foreshore.
But I love thee! who is it, if not thou,
Who forced me erst to turn to the open sea,
And with its billows, with its tempests,
Jubilant wrestle for life’s enjoyments.
Thou shalt go with me, oh, blissful angel, thou
Shalt urge me on to enjoy my life-time’s day.
And when it ends, shalt thou in the grave then
Rouse me up, once more, from my torpor.
And o’er the sun’s high path, and the stars also
Shalt thou go with me, shalt in my heaven still,
O’er happiness’s emptied meadhorn,
Teach me of lovelier worlds to dream on.
THE LOVER.
SETS the sun, the twilight neareth,
Cooling dew the meadow cheereth,
Evening sinks on wings of roses
O’er the dales devotedly.
Wounded sore by Cupid’s arrow
Selma, in her chamber narrow,
By the window oped reposes
Gazing o’er the lea.
Not a sound of lover nearing,
No fond message in the hearing
Of the tender maiden, proveth
That he cometh lightly on.
Looks she with devoted yearning,
Now to mead and woodland turning,
Nothing, but the shadows, moveth
Fleeting off anon.
Tears bedim her sight, with sobbing
Beats her heart, her pulse is throbbing,
Now and then a silent sighing
Softly from her lips doth speed.
Vainly! the reply delayeth,
What she hideth or displayeth,
Only roguish breezes flying
Pay it any heed.
In the wind her hair is blowing,
On her cheek light flames are glowing,
White and bare her shoulders shiver
‘Neath the dewdrops’ chilly rain.
Skies grow dark, the maiden quaketh,
Showers dash, the wild storm breaketh;
Cruel! shall he never give her
Warm embrace again?
Every breath a hope o’erthroweth,
Now she freezeth, now she gloweth,
Passions’ flames upon her preying
Now, and nightly breezes now.
Shading veil aside she flingeth,
Round her waist no girdle clingeth,
Free her bosom’s waves are playing:
Youth, oh! where art thou?
But he comes. — Rejoice! for sprightly,
Like a star appearing brightly,
Breaks he through the park’s high walls, and
Straight to thee his course he steers.
Stands he by the goal he seeketh,
Key within the keyhole creaketh,
Window shuts, and curtain falls, and
Faint light disappears.
TO MY SPARROW.
I NURSE thee, little sparrow, with such pleasure,
And as at times I stand
With tears within mine eyes each grain I measure,
Thou pluckest from my hand.
I love thee, though thy veil of plumes display not
One smile of beauty shown;
I know thee, though thy little beak betray not
Thy bosom’s inmost tone.
Thy garb is dark as night, and e’en thy tongue, too,
Is dumb and mute as it;
Thou canst not sparkle, and thou hast no song, too,
Thou’rt but for friendship fit.
Some call thee ugly, and they wonder therefore
I set by thee such store;
Thou ‘rt tender though and true, what should I care
What should I ask for more?
When other people mock thy simple raiment,
Thou look’st towards me so bold;
I would not give one plume of thine in payment
For any pearls or gold.
They praise the siskin’s trills, they hail with pleasure
Canaries’ shrilly tone;
I sought a being with a heart to treasure
And warm against mine own.
For love dwells not in outward gloss, nor traceth
Its satisfaction there;
Its pleasure is the gratitude it raiseth,
The bliss it doth confer.
When thou dost gently perch in harmless glee on
My hand and peck again,
Rewardest thou not then my care, my wee one,
Art thou not pretty then?
Devotedly will I still seek to cherish
Thy life’s swift spring-time here,
And drop upon thy grave, when thou shalt perish,
A floweret and a tear.
THE BURIAL.
NOW the church’s dismal bells are tolling,
Towards the gate a black-garbed crowd is strolling,
And a youth there, from life’s spring-field shorn off,
On the bier is borne off.
In the mould the slumberer sinketh slowly,
Peacefully they round the hillock lowly,
And a simple cross by grief was raised there,
O’er the safe burgh placed there.
Now, when life’s last tribute had been paid off,
And the hushed procession thence had made off:
‘Gainst an elm-tree, growing up there, stooping
Stayed a maiden drooping.
And she tarried till all had departed;
; Towards the grave then — towards the dead she started,
And a lily, which she bore in hand then,
Offered on the sand then.
And devoted, weeping, there she bided,
When the sun behind the hills had glided,
And the pallid star, by night o’erladen,
Rose upon the maiden.
Next day found her, as the day before, there;
But her tear-springs had run out, — no more there
‘Gainst the cross, to which her arm was cleaving,
Was the bosom heaving.
TO FRIGGA.
‘TWILL not tempt me, thy wealth, Africa’s golden flood,
Nor thy pearl have I sought, glittering ocean!
Frigga’s heart only tempts me,
When in tear-bedewed eye betrayed.
Oh, how worthless for me would be a boundless world,
With its suns all of gold, with all its diamond sheen,
To that world which with her I
Rapt enclose in a pent-up breast.
What she borrowed from dust, what she from heaven hath got,
Can I tell any more, than, in our summer’s cloud,
What is painted by evening,
Or by flowery morning’s hand?
Thought grows dizzy and sight, when in her eye I gaze,
E’en as though I looked down on an unmeasured
Till from trance I am started deep,
By a kiss of her purple mouth.
Where wert thou nourished then? Say, laughing angel, where?
Till thou cam’st down to earth, and to thy rosy
Gav’st the sweet form of Frigga, home
Making lovely my wandering here.
When, sometimes, on the way gloom falls, and thorns shoot forth,
When, sometimes, sighs the soul, racked by its
Oh, how sweet is it then to fetters yoke,
Hie to the loved one’s sweet embrace.
Earth caresseth my foot, sweet as a spring-wind there,
Life’s encumbering weight feels like a bubble light,
And the fast swelling pulses
Rock the soul to the gods’ sweet rest.
YOUTH.
MIDST the Powers, whose throne the earth upbeareth,
Transiency alone a sure crown weareth,
Death cannot be overthrown, nor spareth,
And his sickle rusteth not.
Dost thou, youth, fear the Destroyer’s power?
Oh, then learn to feast, while lasts the hour,
Know, eternity of life can flower
In the twinkling of an eye.
Heaven and Earth are both owned by the minute,
Heaven and Earth can be enjoyed within it,
High, and rich, and vast, — though flown by e’en, — it
Can in memory tarry still.
But not Thought’s might, which a strict law tieth,
Feeling’s might the hour dignifieth;
Feeling reapeth, while one moment flieth,
More than thousand ages sowed.
Youth, rejoice, the gods’ good bounty flowers
Still in thy warm pulses’ summer-hours;
Still within thine own heart’s sacred bowers
Liveth feeling strong and young.
But they flee, at last in numbness ended,
These short hours that on thy bliss attended,
Old age nears, youth, be thy care expended
On the gifts of life’s young spring.
Take thy pleasure while thy May-day lasteth,
Autumn’s storm-stride every flower blasteth,
No devoted sun its mild rays casteth
Over winter’s long chill night.
Wherefore art thou, aimless toil employing,
Pleasures single shortlived day destroying?
Wherefore with thine own fresh heart-blood cloying
Care’s and chance’s light caprice?
Love exhorts thee, hear his bidding, early —
Calls the young god, crowned with triumphs, clearly,
In thy bride thou clasp’st no maiden merely,
All the world thou claspest then.
Sways the vine, the grape its red blood sheddeth,
Joy alone through her domain there spreadeth,
Happy as a king the beggar treadeth,
Brothers, ‘neath the vineleaves’ crown.
Love then, youth, thy heart’s flame’s disappearing,
Drink, a winter without grapes is nearing,
Laugh, be glad, thy life with frolic cheering,
Frost and numbness follow soon.
WAITING.
HOW long the way is! — short for the cheerful spirit,
But long, ah, long for the sickly heart that waiteth.
When will she come then, when will the darling sink
Blest on my quick-throbbing breast?
Here will she come though; yea though she but chose to wear out
On woodland’s sand-bestrown path her foot so tender.
Here, though she love the billows, and bold in wherry
Cleave through the mirrory deep.
From foreland’s rock, in shade of the crooked pine
Will I a far-gazing look by turns let fall on tree,
The pathway now, and now on the glassy
Strait, and its beaming expanse.
Here will I listen; — be silent, ye merry songsters,
In greenwood tops there, your singing I desire not.
Nay but a soft report of a far-off oar-stroke,
Or the beloved one’s steps.
In vain; — for not one sound of the darling stilleth
My ear’s desire, but the trills of finches die in
The country’s calm, and sometimes in echo’s lap some
Cuckoo’s melodious sigh. —
Scanning the wood, I see there a gathering only
Of frightened sheep back to some fold returning,
Scanning the billows, only a crowd of mews there
Gleam in the evening’s glare.
But thou, whose eye bright beaming at once embraceth
The planet’s triumphant course, the atom’s slumber,
Say, ere thou settest, oh, glowing Sun, where is she?
Say where my darling abides.
In vain! for like a king, from thy high path yonder,
Thou scatterest wealth, but children’s sighing hear’st
To me, that beg for only one word about her, not;
Givest thou torrents of gold.
Whom shall I question? Is it the gay lark yonder,
Who lately on shortened wings sank down from the cloudland?
Aye! or the hawk then, where he with sails expanded
Shoots in aerial chase?
Aye, every pulse increaseth my pain, my longing;
Deluded senses nourish my hope with treason,
And hope again with traitorous lips is fanning
Love’s glowing embers to flame.
Nor cools the evening haze, from the wave arisen,
Nor dew’s all-plenteous shower my heart’s sore yearning?
Nor nightly wind, which round the rocks now
Plays with my chill-smitten locks whistling,
To rest now goeth nature, still more there spreadeth
Yon silent shadow over the earth its cover,
In every floweret swelleth a still small bride-song,
I only languish alone.
JOURNEY FROM ABO.
NOW flaps the sail, the yawl is already off;
Seizeth the rudder the young man’s trusty hand,
And in the bows sits, fair and blooming,
Holding an oar there, a country maiden.
The small unsteady boat is no more born down
By milk and fruit, the pails all empty stand,
And gaud and high-day ware is folded
Down in the well-packed apple-basket.
But evening’s breezes freshen up anew,
And Aura’
s pennants point to the bay again,
The sail now fills, farewell is wafted
Gladly to many a boat in harbour.
And now, oh, town, farewell, and a long farewell!
Soon shall I see no more thy splendours proud,
No more shall hear aught of thy wagons’
Loud rumbling din in the crowded markets.
But wander undisturbed in a nature calm,
Its splendour see unmarred by the hand of man,
And listen blest to the country’s tongues there:
Birds, and echoes, and silver brooklets.
Lo, how the bay opes towards us its wide embrace.
In the offing looms the strand there of Runsala.
There, among oaks of centuries’ standing,
Nymphs are on guard at Choraeus’ fountain.
Peace with thy ashes, bard of my fosterland!
Like me, thou oft didst rock on Aura’s bay,
And often, often lookedst with longing
Back to thy dale and its green-clad guardians.
But now our course tends eastward — the long, long lake
Stands like an endless mirror before mine eye;
And, white as swans to look at, cleaveth
Sail upon sail through its glassy surface.
The sun is setting, breezes are dying off,
In woodlands hushed is every song-bird’s note;
But here and there a country maiden
Lifteth her oar up and laughs and singeth.
But lifetime’s joyous dream on fair nature’s breast,
The heart’s sore longing, the modest maiden’s pain,
And hope’s delight, and memory’s pleasure
Soar in the bosom of song round the inlets.
It grows not dark, nor light — but so grandly vaults
A night of silver, instead of a day of gold,
Above the boat, while yet it slowly nears the
Bay, that is cleft by Lemo’s foreland.
With joy and sadness see I the regions now,
Where thou, lamented youth, thy first laurels culledst,
Where, Ramsay, thou, round guarded standard
Ralliedst again the flying warriors.
With sadness; when I think thou wert ta’en so young
From hope’s all-lovely world from thy warrior life;
With joy, though, when I think that the hero
Bled for his honour and native country.
And still with awe the son of the skerries thinks,
In gloomy nights, he sees thy spectre there,
And, when on the strand the pine-trees whistle,
Hears thy commanding voice exhorting.
Collected Works of Johan Ludvig Runeberg Page 29
