 | Idyls of Norway and other poems |  |
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MARIT AND I.
Marit at the brook-side sitting, rosy, dimpled, merry-eyed,
Saw her lovely visage trembling in the mirror of the tide,
While between her pretty teeth a golden coil of hair she held;
Like a shining snake it quivered in the tide, and shrunk and swelled.
Saw her lovely visage trembling in the mirror of the tide,
While between her pretty teeth a golden coil of hair she held;
Like a shining snake it quivered in the tide, and shrunk and swelled.
And she dipped her dainty fingers deftly in the chilly brook;
Scarce she minded how her image with the ripples curved and shook;
Stooping, with a tiny shudder dashed the water in her face;
O'er her brow and cheeks the dew-drops glistening rolled and fell apace.
Scarce she minded how her image with the ripples curved and shook;
Stooping, with a tiny shudder dashed the water in her face;
O'er her brow and cheeks the dew-drops glistening rolled and fell apace.
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Breathless sat I, safely hidden in the tree-top dense and green;
For a maid is ne'er so sweet as when she thinks herself unseen;
And I saw her with a scarlet ribbon tie her braid of hair,
And I swore a silent oath I ne'er had seen a thing more fair.
For a maid is ne'er so sweet as when she thinks herself unseen;
And I saw her with a scarlet ribbon tie her braid of hair,
And I swore a silent oath I ne'er had seen a thing more fair.
Now, if you will never breathe it, I will tell you something queer—
Only step a little nearer; let me whisper in your ear:
If you think it was the first time that in this sequestered dell
I beheld the little Marit—well, 'tis scarcely fair to tell.
Only step a little nearer; let me whisper in your ear:
If you think it was the first time that in this sequestered dell
I beheld the little Marit—well, 'tis scarcely fair to tell.
There within my leafy bower sat I, happy as a king,
And two anxious wrens were flitting round about me twittering,
While I gazed at Marit's image framed in heaven's eternal blue,
While the clouds were drifting past it, and the birds across it flew.
And two anxious wrens were flitting round about me twittering,
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While the clouds were drifting past it, and the birds across it flew.
But anon the smile that hovered in the water stole away,
Though the sunshine through the birch-leaves flung of light its shimmering spray,
And a breath came floating upward as if some one gently sighed,
And at just the self-same moment sighed the image in the tide.
Though the sunshine through the birch-leaves flung of light its shimmering spray,
And a breath came floating upward as if some one gently sighed,
And at just the self-same moment sighed the image in the tide.
Then I heard a mournful whisper: “O thou poor, thou pretty face,
Without gold what will avail thee bloom of beauty, youth, and grace?
For a maid who has no dower—” and her curly head she shook:
It was little Marit speaking to her image in the brook.
Without gold what will avail thee bloom of beauty, youth, and grace?
For a maid who has no dower—” and her curly head she shook:
It was little Marit speaking to her image in the brook.
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More I heard not, for the whisper in a shivering sigh expired,
And the image in the water looked so sad and sweet and tired.
Full of love and full of pity, down I stooped her plaint to hear:
I could almost touch the ringlets curling archly round her ear.
And the image in the water looked so sad and sweet and tired.
Full of love and full of pity, down I stooped her plaint to hear:
I could almost touch the ringlets curling archly round her ear.
Nearer, still a little nearer, forth I crept along the bough.
Tremblingly her lips were moving, and a cloud rose on her brow.
“Precious darling,” thought I, “grieve not that thou hast no lover found—”
Crash the branch went, and, bewildered, down I tumbled on the ground.
Tremblingly her lips were moving, and a cloud rose on her brow.
“Precious darling,” thought I, “grieve not that thou hast no lover found—”
Crash the branch went, and, bewildered, down I tumbled on the ground.
Up then sprang the little Marit with a cry of wild alarm,
And she gazed as if she dreaded I had come to do her harm.
Swift she darted through the bushes, and with stupid wonder mute
Stood I staring blankly after, ere I started in pursuit.
And she gazed as if she dreaded I had come to do her harm.
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Stood I staring blankly after, ere I started in pursuit.
And a merry chase I gave her through the underbrush and copse;
Over fallen trunks and bowlders, on she fled with skips and hops,
Glancing sharply o'er her shoulder when she heard my footsteps' sound,
Dashing on with reckless terror like a deer before the hound.
Over fallen trunks and bowlders, on she fled with skips and hops,
Glancing sharply o'er her shoulder when she heard my footsteps' sound,
Dashing on with reckless terror like a deer before the hound.
Hot with zeal I broke my pathway where the clustered boughs were dense,
For I wanted to assure her I intended no offence;
And at last, exhausted, fell she on the greensward quivering,
Sobbing, panting, pleading, weeping, like a wild unreasoning thing.
For I wanted to assure her I intended no offence;
And at last, exhausted, fell she on the greensward quivering,
Sobbing, panting, pleading, weeping, like a wild unreasoning thing.
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“Marit,” said I, stooping down, “I hardly see why you should cry:
There is scarce in all the parish such a harmless lad as I;
And you know I always liked you”—here my voice was soft and low.
“No, indeed,” she sobbed, in answer—“no, indeed, I do not know.”
There is scarce in all the parish such a harmless lad as I;
And you know I always liked you”—here my voice was soft and low.
“No, indeed,” she sobbed, in answer—“no, indeed, I do not know.”
But methought that in her voice there was a touch of petulance;
Through the glistening tears I caught a little shy and furtive glance.
Growing bolder then, I clasped her dainty hand full tenderly,
Though it made a mock exertion, struggling faintly to be free.
Through the glistening tears I caught a little shy and furtive glance.
Growing bolder then, I clasped her dainty hand full tenderly,
Though it made a mock exertion, struggling faintly to be free.
“Little Marit,” said I, gently, “tell me what has grieved you so,
For I heard you sighing sorely at the brook a while ago.”
“Oh,” she said, her sobs subduing, with an air demure and meek—
“Oh, it was that naughty kitten; he had scratched me on the cheek.”
For I heard you sighing sorely at the brook a while ago.”
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“Oh, it was that naughty kitten; he had scratched me on the cheek.”
“Nothing worse?” I answered, gayly, while I strove her glance to catch.
“Let me look; my kiss is healing. May I cure the kitten's scratch?”
And I kissed the burning blushes on her cheeks in heedless glee,
Though the marks of Pussy's scratches were invisible to me.
“Let me look; my kiss is healing. May I cure the kitten's scratch?”
And I kissed the burning blushes on her cheeks in heedless glee,
Though the marks of Pussy's scratches were invisible to me.
“O thou poor, thou pretty darling,” cried I, frantic with delight,
While she gazed upon me smiling, yet with eyes that tears made bright,
“Let thy beauty be thy dower, and be mine to have and hold;
For a face as sweet as thou hast needs, in sooth, no frame of gold.”
While she gazed upon me smiling, yet with eyes that tears made bright,
“Let thy beauty be thy dower, and be mine to have and hold;
For a face as sweet as thou hast needs, in sooth, no frame of gold.”
| Idyls of Norway and other poems | |