The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

O who cometh sweetly
With singing of showers?—
The wild wind runs fleetly
Before his soft tread,
The sward stirs asunder
To radiance of flowers,
While o'er him and under
A glory is spread—
A white cloud above him
Moves on thro' the blue,
And all things that love him
Are dim with its dew:
The lark is upspringing,
The merle whistles clear,
There is sunlight and singing,
For Balder is here!

He walks on the mountains,
He treads on the snows;
He loosens the fountains
And quickens the wells;
He is filling the chalice
Of lily and rose,
He is down in the valleys
And deep in the dells—
He smiles, and buds spring to him.
The bright and the dark;
He speaks, and birds sing to him,
The finch and the lark,—

452

He is down by the river,
He is up by the mere,
Woods gladden, leaves quiver,
For Balder is here.

There is some divine trouble
On earth and in air—
Trees tremble, brooks bubble,
Ants loosen the sod;
Warm footfalls awaken
Whatever is fair;
Sweet rain-dews are shaken
To quicken each clod.
The wild rainbows o'er him
Are melted and fade,
The grass runs before him
Thro' meadow and glade;
Green branches close round him,
The leaves whisper near—
‘He is ours—we have found him—
Bright Balder is here!’

The forest glows golden
Where'er he is seen,
New flowers are unfolden,
New voices arise;
Flames flash at his passing
From boughs that grow green,
Dark runlets gleam, glassing
The stars of his eyes.
The Earth wears her brightest
Wherever he goes,
The hawthorn its whitest,
Its reddest the rose;
The days now are sunny,
The white storks appear,
And the bee gathers honey,
For Balder is here.

He is here on the heather,
And here by the brook,
And here where together
The lilac boughs cling;
He is coming and going
With love in his look,
His white hand is sowing
Warm seeds, and they spring!
He has touch'd with new silver
The lips of the stream,
And the eyes of the culver
Are bright from his beam,
He has lit the great lilies
Like lamps on the mere;
All happy and still is,
For Balder is here.

Still southward with sunlight
He wanders away—
The true light, the one light,
The new light, is he!
With music and singing
The mountains are gay,
And the peace he is bringing
Spreads over the sea.
All night, while stars twinkling
Gleam down on the glade,
His white hands are sprinkling
With harebells the shade;
And when day hath broken,
All things that dwell near
Will know, by that token,
That Balder is here.

In the dark deep dominions
Of pine and of fir,
Where the dove with soft pinions
Sits still on her nest,
He sees her, and by her
The young doves astir,
And smiling sits nigh her,
His hand on her breast;
The father-dove lingers
With love in its eyes,
Alights on his fingers,
And utters soft cries,
And the sweet colours seven
Of the rainbow appear
On its neck, as in heaven,
Now Balder is here.

He sits by a fountain
Far up near the snow,
And high on the mountain
The wild reindeer stand;
On crimson moss near to him
They feed walking slow,
Or come with no fear to him,
And eat from his hand.
He sees the ice turning
To columns of gold.
He sees the clouds burning
On crags that were cold;
The great snows are drifting
To cataracts clear,
All shining and shifting,
For Balder is here.

453

O who sitteth singing,
Where sunset is red,
And wild ducks are winging
Against the dark gleam?
It is he, it is Balder,
He hangeth his head
Where willow and alder
Droop over the stream;
And the purple moths find him
And hover around,
And from marshes behind him
He hears a low sound:
The frogs croak their greeting
From swamp and from mere,
And their faint hearts are beating,
For Balder is here.

The round moon is peeping
Above the low hill;
Her white light, upcreeping
Against the sun's glow,
On the black shallow river
Falls silvern and chill,
Where bulrushes quiver
And wan lilies grow.
The black bats are flitting,
Owls pass on soft wings,
Yet silently sitting
He lingers and sings—
He sings of the Maytime,
Its sunlight and cheer,
And the night like the daytime
Knows Balder is here.

He is here with the moonlight,
With night as with day,
The true light, the one light,
The new light, is he;
The moon-bows above him
Are melted away,
And the things of night love him,
And hearken and see.
He sits and he ponders,
He walks and he broods,
Or singing he wanders
'Neath star-frosted woods;
And the spheres from afar, light
His face shining clear:
Yea, the moonlight and starlight
Feel Balder is here.

He is here, he is moving
On mountain and dale,
And all things grow loving,
And all things grow bright:
Buds bloom in the meadows,
Milk foams in the pail,
There is scent in the shadows,
And sound in the light:
O listen! he passes
Thro' valleys of flowers,
With springing of grasses
And singing of showers.
Earth wakes—he has called her,
Whose voice she holds dear;
She was waiting for Balder,
And Balder is here!