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85
Poems written in Norway in 1899
I. The Peninsula
The lilac ling my bed, I lay
In that entranced half-isle of ours,—
That Sirmio of a northern bay,
Paven with tiny leaves and flowers;—
Ancestral birches down the blue
Their waterfalls of silver threw.
In that entranced half-isle of ours,—
That Sirmio of a northern bay,
Paven with tiny leaves and flowers;—
Ancestral birches down the blue
Their waterfalls of silver threw.
Between their gnarl'd and papery boughs
The radiant lake burned in the sun;
I looked out of their fairy house,
And watched the waves break one by one—
Reverberant turquoise shattered there
Between green earth and golden air.
The radiant lake burned in the sun;
I looked out of their fairy house,
And watched the waves break one by one—
Reverberant turquoise shattered there
Between green earth and golden air.
Hot in the breeze, the distant pines
Cast wafts of spice across our shore;
And unseen rosemaries gave signs,
And secret junipers their store;
From every flower and herb and tree
Sabæan odours sighed to me.
Cast wafts of spice across our shore;
And unseen rosemaries gave signs,
And secret junipers their store;
From every flower and herb and tree
Sabæan odours sighed to me.
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And all things sang, too,—the soft wind,
The birch-leaves' petulant, shy sound,
The lapping waters, and the thinned
Sleek tufts of autumn leafage browned,
The cow-bell far away, that fills
All corners of the folded hills.
The birch-leaves' petulant, shy sound,
The lapping waters, and the thinned
Sleek tufts of autumn leafage browned,
The cow-bell far away, that fills
All corners of the folded hills.
Thus odour, song, and colour wrought
A magic raiment for my soul:
All the dark garments pain had brought
To robe me for the masque of dole
Fell from me straightway; I was clad
As angels when God makes them glad.
A magic raiment for my soul:
All the dark garments pain had brought
To robe me for the masque of dole
Fell from me straightway; I was clad
As angels when God makes them glad.
Blue, golden-green, and silver-white—
Were these not hues for happiness?
In our elysian island bright,
Round the worn pilgrim still they press;
They dress him for the world anew,
These spirits of white and green and blue.
Were these not hues for happiness?
In our elysian island bright,
Round the worn pilgrim still they press;
They dress him for the world anew,
These spirits of white and green and blue.
And so for hours I laid my head
Upon the lilac spires of ling,
And thus, by Beauty islanded,
I heard the lustral waters sing,
And watched the low wind stir the gold
And turn the quavering birch-leaves cold.
Upon the lilac spires of ling,
And thus, by Beauty islanded,
I heard the lustral waters sing,
And watched the low wind stir the gold
And turn the quavering birch-leaves cold.
Næset i Bygland,
August 4.
87
II. The Cataract
From slippery slab to slab I crawl
Above the shattering waterfall.
Above the shattering waterfall.
A mist, like hopeless human prayer,
Curls in the firs and welters there.
Curls in the firs and welters there.
Through them I watch descend, descend
The shuddering waters without end.
The shuddering waters without end.
Gray tears have fallen to swell this flood,
And iron-ruddy drops like blood.
And iron-ruddy drops like blood.
It moans, and sobs, and howls, and sings,
And whispers of heart-breaking things.
And whispers of heart-breaking things.
For ages it has thundered so
Into the slate-blue lake below.
Into the slate-blue lake below.
Each streak of blood, each cold gray tear,
Sinks down into the sullen mere.
Sinks down into the sullen mere.
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Sinks down, and vanishes, and dies,
Yet the lake's borders never rise.
Yet the lake's borders never rise.
So to God's silent heart are hurled
The sorrows of the unsuccoured world.
The sorrows of the unsuccoured world.
Tinnfossen,
August 19.
89
III. The Lake
Nevermore sail or oar
Hears the chorus that once bore us
To the shore,
Where the birches shake their tresses
From the outmost sandy nesses.
Hears the chorus that once bore us
To the shore,
Where the birches shake their tresses
From the outmost sandy nesses.
Fare ye well, brae and dell,
And our meadow, deep in shadow!
Never tell
How we loved your pleasant reaches
And the shade of your sleek beeches.
And our meadow, deep in shadow!
Never tell
How we loved your pleasant reaches
And the shade of your sleek beeches.
Hours and hours, sun and showers,
Quiet-breasted, here we rested
By your flowers.
Flowers will fade and life is tragic;
Keep, sweet lake, your breathless magic.
Quiet-breasted, here we rested
By your flowers.
Flowers will fade and life is tragic;
Keep, sweet lake, your breathless magic.
To your shore nevermore
Come we sailing, blithely hailing,
As of yore;
To return would break asunder
All the threads we wove in wonder.
Come we sailing, blithely hailing,
As of yore;
To return would break asunder
All the threads we wove in wonder.
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Then, adieu! not of you
Shall a broken heart be token,
Wavelets blue!
We must steer our barque of sorrow
To some darker shore to-morrow.
Shall a broken heart be token,
Wavelets blue!
We must steer our barque of sorrow
To some darker shore to-morrow.
Byglandsfjorden,
August 15.
91
IV. Verses
[_]
Written in the album of Anna Björnaraa, the composer and singer of Stev, where many Norwegian and Danish poets had written.
Immortal song still gushes like a fountain,
And with its delicate enchantment fills
The granite goblet of the hollow mountain,
I come, the pilgrim of an alien clime,
And croon a stave with these my Northland brothers,
Since more than blood-kin is the bond of rhyme,
And sisters were our ancient Muses' mothers.
Vik i Valle, Sætersdalen,
August 8.
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