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Idyls of Norway and other poems

Boyesen, Hjalmar Hjorth (1848-1895)

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[section]
  
DEDICATION TO L. K. B.
  
THE LOST HELLAS.
  
ELEGY ON A. G. L.
  
AWAKE!
  
THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN.
  
ELEGY ON PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
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IDYLS OF NORWAY.
  
BRIER-ROSE.
  
HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD.
  
THORALF AND SYNNÖV.
  
LITTLE SIGRID.
  
MARIT AND I.
  
THORA.
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EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE., Etc.
  
EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE.
  
NORWAY.
  
THE NIXY.
  
AN EVERY-DAY TRAGEDY.
  
THE ELF-MAIDENS.
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NORSE STAVES.
  
INTRODUCTION.
  
STAVE IN “GUNNAR.”
  
COME, FAIREST MAID.
  
TELL ME, ILKA.
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SONNETS.
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JUNO LUDOVISI.
 1. 
[I. White, silent goddess, whose divine repose]
 2. 
[II. Sublime the thought that dwells within this stone]
 3. 
[III. Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway]
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EVOLUTION.
 1. 
[I. Broad were the bases of all being laid]
 2. 
[II. I am the child of earth and air and sea]
 3. 
[III. A sacred kinship I would not forego]
 4. 
[IV. I stood and gazed with wonder blent with awe]
 5. 
[V. Sublime is life, though in beginnings base]
  
TO BAYARD TAYLOR.
 1. 
I.—THE SEA.
 2. 
II.—THE AIR.
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TO LILLIE.
 1. 
I SAT AND GAZED INTO THE BURNING SKY.
 2. 
I SAW THE LILY PALE AND PERFECT GROW.
 3. 
WITHIN THE ROSE I FOUND A TREMBLING TEAR.
 4. 
HOW CAN I LIGHTLY SPEAK THY WONDROUS NAME.
 5. 
AN ANXIOUS WHISPER STEALS UNTO MY EAR.
 6. 
THY GRACIOUS FACE I GREET WITH GLAD SURPRISE.
 7. 
YES, MY OLD SELF IS DEAD; AND IT IS WELL.
 8. 
IF I SHOULD LOSE THEE, DARLING, AND BEHOLD.
 9. 
I SAW THEE DRIFTING, DRIFTING FAR AWAY.
 10. 
I WONDER OFT WHY GOD, WHO IS SO GOOD.
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CALPURNIA.
 1. 
I. PRELUDE.
 2. 
II. IN THE PALACE OF THE CÆSARS.
 3. 
III. IN THE FLAVIAN ARENA.
 4. 
IV. IN THE CATACOMBS OF ST. CALIXTUS.

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123

[III. Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway]

Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway!
Lift up the mellow splendor of thine eyes.
Awake the dumb and callous earth that lies
Steeped in reluctant sleep. Send forth the gay
Olympian throng that, vanquished, fled away
When the pale King of Sorrows conquering came
From out the East. Within thy mighty frame
New life is kindling for a holier day.
For hark! Methinks within this gurgling stream
The Naiad's silvery voice I faintly hear;
Among the leaves I catch the fleeting gleam
Of white limbs vanishing; yea, far and near
Strange whispers haunt my sense, and tenderly
The hamadryad's pulse beats in this tree.
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