 | Orra |  |
5
ORRA'S SONG.
I stood by the ocean at break of day!
My deer in the pasture keeping;
And low on the greensward a youth there lay,
In the shade of a willow sleeping.
My deer in the pasture keeping;
And low on the greensward a youth there lay,
In the shade of a willow sleeping.
His beautiful limbs they were dripping with dew,
On the thistle he rested his head;
But deep was his slumber, and little he knew,
That I bent o'er his flowery bed.
On the thistle he rested his head;
But deep was his slumber, and little he knew,
That I bent o'er his flowery bed.
6
Then smiling, the stranger arose from the ground,
And he shewed me the glittering sea;
Far over those waters my shallop is bound,
He said, wilt thou wander with me?
And he shewed me the glittering sea;
Far over those waters my shallop is bound,
He said, wilt thou wander with me?
O no, I replied, though I knew thee most true
Of lovers beneath the fair sun,
Believe me, young stranger, in vain wouldst thou sue—
My heart is not thus to be won.
Of lovers beneath the fair sun,
Believe me, young stranger, in vain wouldst thou sue—
My heart is not thus to be won.
Then he looked in my face, 'twas a piteous look,
And my hand he began to wring;
I know, he rejoined, thy young soul could not brook,
The woes that from poverty spring.
And my hand he began to wring;
I know, he rejoined, thy young soul could not brook,
The woes that from poverty spring.
7
The sun glows on high, and the weather is fair,
I will fly to the desert e'er winter begins;
The ermine I'll take, and the fox from his lair,
And my bark will be laden with choicest skins:
I will fly to the desert e'er winter begins;
The ermine I'll take, and the fox from his lair,
And my bark will be laden with choicest skins:
And my bed shall be made of the dusky fern,
Where the thistle is waving its purple flower;
And no more to my dwelling will I return
Till I gain for my Orra a wedding dower.
Where the thistle is waving its purple flower;
And no more to my dwelling will I return
Till I gain for my Orra a wedding dower.
But still, I replied, though I knew thee most true
Of lovers beneath the fair sun,
Believe me, young stranger, in vain wouldst thou sue—
For my heart is not thus to be won.
Of lovers beneath the fair sun,
Believe me, young stranger, in vain wouldst thou sue—
For my heart is not thus to be won.
8
Those notes had scarcely died away—
The cadence yet was on her tongue—
When thus responsive to her lay
Young Lawo sung:—
The cadence yet was on her tongue—
When thus responsive to her lay
Young Lawo sung:—
“And tell me then, Orra, was that the day
“When last we met by the ocean side?
“And was it that coldness which made thee say
“Thou ne'er would'st be any but Lawo's bride?”
“When last we met by the ocean side?
“And was it that coldness which made thee say
“Thou ne'er would'st be any but Lawo's bride?”
9
Her name young Orra trembling heard,
And, blushing, turned her head aside;
Her sire, too, caught the fatal word,
And saw the blush she strove to hide.
“That blush by which thy cheek is dyed,—
“Thy voice so tremulous and broken,—
“Betray thy love,” the old man cried,
“Nor need I any other token.”
And, blushing, turned her head aside;
Her sire, too, caught the fatal word,
And saw the blush she strove to hide.
“That blush by which thy cheek is dyed,—
“Thy voice so tremulous and broken,—
“Betray thy love,” the old man cried,
“Nor need I any other token.”
Then fast from Orra's azure eyes
Full many a bitter tear there fell,
And her breast—as to the watery skies
The sea will rise—began to swell
For Orra loved her sire full well,
And love she knew to him was due;
But then she felt a nameless spell
That bound her to her lover too.
Full many a bitter tear there fell,
And her breast—as to the watery skies
The sea will rise—began to swell
For Orra loved her sire full well,
And love she knew to him was due;
But then she felt a nameless spell
That bound her to her lover too.
10
Her sire with kind paternal eye,
Relenting, marked his daughter's woe,
And sighed, and almost wondered why,
He should have frowned upon her so.
Ah! who is he that does not know
How sweetly woman's tears beguile?
Or if his anger made them slow,
Who could withold the healing smile?
Relenting, marked his daughter's woe,
And sighed, and almost wondered why,
He should have frowned upon her so.
Ah! who is he that does not know
How sweetly woman's tears beguile?
Or if his anger made them slow,
Who could withold the healing smile?
Thus did the tears of that loved maid,
Her father's anger soon subdue,
But, ere his feelings were betrayed,
Young Lawo, ent'ring, met his view:
“Vain youth,” said he, “and who are you?
“Come you to mar our evening cheer?
“Or will you join these fav'rite few?
Whence come you? and what would you here?”
Her father's anger soon subdue,
But, ere his feelings were betrayed,
Young Lawo, ent'ring, met his view:
“Vain youth,” said he, “and who are you?
“Come you to mar our evening cheer?
“Or will you join these fav'rite few?
Whence come you? and what would you here?”
11
Thus Lawo: “pr'ythee, Sir, unbend
“Thy brow, nor harbour idle fear;
“I come not here but as a friend,
“Though not to taste your evening cheer:
“I am a wand'ring mountaineer,
“Nor do I fear to own the name;
“I've left my roving tribe, and here
“Am come my promised bride to claim.
“Thy brow, nor harbour idle fear;
“I come not here but as a friend,
“Though not to taste your evening cheer:
“I am a wand'ring mountaineer,
“Nor do I fear to own the name;
Mr. Acerbi describes the Inhabitants of Lapland as consisting of two distinct classes, the Maritime Laplanders, and the Mountain Laplanders: the former have settled habitations on the sea coast, and the Mountain Tribes, like the Tartars and Arabs, are continually wandering from place to place, but generally move toward the sea in summer for the convenience of fishing.
“I've left my roving tribe, and here
“Am come my promised bride to claim.
“While the mild summer yet was young,
“When last we to the ocean strayed,
“Ere yet the summer birds had sung
“Their thrilling notes in the woodland shade,
“My wand'ring tribe awhile delayed
“Their erring course by the ocean side,
“To feed their deer upon the glade,
“And fish in the now unfrozen tide.
“When last we to the ocean strayed,
“Ere yet the summer birds had sung
“Their thrilling notes in the woodland shade,
“My wand'ring tribe awhile delayed
“Their erring course by the ocean side,
“To feed their deer upon the glade,
“And fish in the now unfrozen tide.
12
“Once as I watched the grazing herd,
“Where trees a gloomy shadow threw
“Around; as blithsome as a bird,
“I whiled my time with the sweet harpu;
“There first that maiden met my view,
“Who at thy side in anguish weeps,
“And there that passion first I knew,
“Which still my heart in thraldom keeps.
“Where trees a gloomy shadow threw
“Around; as blithsome as a bird,
“I whiled my time with the sweet harpu;
“There first that maiden met my view,
“Who at thy side in anguish weeps,
“And there that passion first I knew,
“Which still my heart in thraldom keeps.
“As graceful as the silvery cloud
“That glides upon the summer air,
“She moved, a monarch might be proud,
“The love of such a form to share;
“I marked her shape, her flowing hair,
“And eyes of bright ethereal blue,
“And Oh! I thought, a form so fair,
“The liveliest fancy never drew.
“That glides upon the summer air,
“She moved, a monarch might be proud,
“The love of such a form to share;
“I marked her shape, her flowing hair,
“And eyes of bright ethereal blue,
“And Oh! I thought, a form so fair,
“The liveliest fancy never drew.
13
“The lovely maiden went her way,
“There passed few words between us then,
“But on the next propitious day,
“Again we met within the glen,
“Again, again, and yet again
“She smiling came to meet me there:
“Oh bliss beyond the bliss of men,
“To share the smile of one so fair!
“There passed few words between us then,
“But on the next propitious day,
“Again we met within the glen,
“Again, again, and yet again
“She smiling came to meet me there:
“Oh bliss beyond the bliss of men,
“To share the smile of one so fair!
“I need not tell how warm a flame
“Her beauty kindled in my breast:
“And why was Orra much to blame
“If she a mutual love confessed?
“But see, this Cup will tell the rest,
“O'erflowing with the nuptial wine:
“Receive it—and thou mak'st me blest,
“Refuse it—misery is mine.”
“Her beauty kindled in my breast:
“And why was Orra much to blame
“If she a mutual love confessed?
“But see, this Cup will tell the rest,
“When a Laplander” says Acerbi, “has an inclination to marry a young female of his nation, he communicates his wish to his own family, who then repair in a body to the dwelling of the parents of the girl. When they are come to the door of the hut in which she lives, the principal spokesman enters first, followed by the rest of the kindred. As soon as they are come in, the Orator fills out a bumper of spirits, which he offers to the girl's father, who, if he accept of it, shews thereby that he approves of the match about to be moved for.” As Lawo goes to Orra's residence, unaccompanied by his kindred, he is represented as performing this ceremony himself.
“O'erflowing with the nuptial wine:
“Receive it—and thou mak'st me blest,
“Refuse it—misery is mine.”
14
Young Lawo watched the old man's eyes
And read his doom ere he began,
Quick from his cheek the colour flies,
And through his frame a tremour ran;
“Youth,” said the venerable man,
“I cannot take the proffered wine,—
“Thy suit alas! is vain, nor can
“The maid thou askest e're be thine,
And read his doom ere he began,
Quick from his cheek the colour flies,
And through his frame a tremour ran;
“Youth,” said the venerable man,
“I cannot take the proffered wine,—
“Thy suit alas! is vain, nor can
“The maid thou askest e're be thine,
“Though not in her esteem hast thou
“A rival—yet thou hast in mine;
“And here his tribe are sitting now,
“Rejoicing o'er th'accepted wine;
“Thick as the stars in heaven that shine,
“Are the deer his native fields display,
“And boats to glide through ocean brine,
“And sledges for the snowy way
“A rival—yet thou hast in mine;
“And here his tribe are sitting now,
“Rejoicing o'er th'accepted wine;
“Thick as the stars in heaven that shine,
“Are the deer his native fields display,
“And boats to glide through ocean brine,
“And sledges for the snowy way
15
“He hath—though these alone, 'tis true,
“Can never make us blest,” he said;
“But thou art of the wand'ring crew,
“And hast not where to lay thy head.
“Then can that tender maiden wed,
“To join thy rude and roving band,
“Perhaps to beg her daily bread,
“A vagrant in her native land?”
“Can never make us blest,” he said;
“But thou art of the wand'ring crew,
“And hast not where to lay thy head.
“Then can that tender maiden wed,
“To join thy rude and roving band,
“Perhaps to beg her daily bread,
“A vagrant in her native land?”
The crisis of his doom is past:
From his full heart he gave a sigh
As if his soul would breathe its last;
And downward turned his tearful eye;
Nor could he utter a reply,
But muttered forth a faint farewell,
And quickly turned for e'er to sly
From Orra and her native dell.
From his full heart he gave a sigh
As if his soul would breathe its last;
And downward turned his tearful eye;
Nor could he utter a reply,
But muttered forth a faint farewell,
And quickly turned for e'er to sly
From Orra and her native dell.
16
And he again has spread his sail
And, like, an eagle on the wind,
He glides along before the gale,
And leaves his Orra far behind:
But still in his perturbed mind
Her image dwells, though out of sight;
Nor can the charms of womankind
Again afford his soul delight.
And, like, an eagle on the wind,
He glides along before the gale,
And leaves his Orra far behind:
But still in his perturbed mind
Her image dwells, though out of sight;
Nor can the charms of womankind
Again afford his soul delight.
| Orra | |