They said that he a medal bore, [he fought!
And soon another won and wore;
“O,” then the thought my heart came o’er,
“How grand a soldier’s lot!”
The winter passed, the snow was thawed, spring wove his joyous spell,
When came the word: “Your father’s dead; — of noble wounds he fell!
Then what I thought, I did not know,
Both grief and calm would come and go;
But mother moaned three days in woe,
Then sounded death her knell.
My father fell on Lappo’s plain, and by his standard lay;
They said he never had before grown pallid in the fray.
On Uttismalm, for Gustaf’s land,
My grandsire died with sword in hand;
His father fell at Villmanstrand; —
He lived in Carol’s day.
So ’twas with them, and so they bled, so did it e’er betide
And yet a glorious life they led, a glorious death they died.
Who would be slow and wavering?
No! Warmth and youth to combat bring,
And die for honor, land and king; —
This is the hero’s pride 1
I am a needy boy, am I, and eat of others’ bread;
I have no ties, I have no home, since father has been dead;
But I would not complain or sigh,
I’m growing as the days go by;
I am a soldier boy, am I,
And nothing do I dread.
And if I live till I am grown, and close my fifteenth year,
To that same hunger, strife and death, I’ll go without a fear;
Where hostile bullets thickest whine,
Shall I be found in foremost line;
And I would follow then, as mine,
My valiant sires’ career!
CANTO TWENTIETH. THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF BJORNEBORG.
A lyrical ode to one of the bravest of regiments.
The poem was written in 1860 by Runeberg, to a modified old melody which was played by the Bjorneborg regiment during the war. The brave men were supposed to sing this inspiring march when they moved forth to the combat, following their “victorious standard,” the Banner of Finland; this consisted of a red field with a golden lion decorated with nine silver roses. In this war the standards were doubtless in the Swedish colors, gold and blue.
The men of Bjorneborg had taken a glorious part in so many campaigns, especially distinguishing themselves in 1808 under the command of Dobeln, that this regiment has been called “The Cradle and High-School of the Brave.”
This ode, of two stanzas, takes the rhyme-form of abaacbcc dedeffegg g, — an elaborate and intricately complex scheme of rhyming, having no parallel, so far as I know, in poetic literature.
The music is spendidly adapted to choral rendition, and is universally popular with Swedish male choruses.
Topelius has also written words to this same melody.
Narva is a town south-west from Petrograd, celebrated by the victory of Charles XII over the Russians, November 20, 1700.
It was at Breitenfeld, near Leipzig, that Gustaf Adolph overcame Tilly September 7, 1631.
Lutzen is also a town of Sachsen, where the great Gustaf II Adolph fell November 6, 1632.
In passing I cannot refrain from adverting to Prof. A. Westerlind’s graphic and classic description of this battle and the scenes connected with the king’s death, in his poem of five cantos, “Among Our Own at Lutzen,” — which I have endeavored elsewhere to reproduce in English.
XX. THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF BJORNEBORG.
Children of a fold that bled,
On Narva’s heath, on Poland’s sand, on Leipzig’s meadows, Lútzen’s highlands;
Yet is Finland’s strength not dead;
Her fields with hostile blood may yet be colored red! Peace and rest no more are thine!
A storm is loosed, the lightnings flash, and cannons roar o’er fields and islands;
Forward, forward, line on line!
On valiant men look valiant fathers’ spirits blest.
Loftiest zeal
Now lights us on to glory;
Sharp is our steel,
Our martial path is gory.
Forward all, in fearless model
Here lies our glorious century-aged freedom’s road.
Shine bright, thou flag with triumphs hoary,
Ravaged by battles since the vanished days of old;
On, on, our noble flag! Wave every fold!
Some remnants yet remain, that Finland’s colors hold!
Never shall our foster-earth
Be torn by might of violence from unbled warrior’s firm
Never shall the word take birth — [possession!
That Finland’s folk betrayed their free state in the North!
More than fall the brave cannot,
Nor yield before a peril’s threat, retreat, nor bow before
Death, the warrior’s glorious lot, — [oppression.
Is ours when for a victory we yet have fought!
Weapons in hand,
The wary foe comes gory!
Death for our land
Is life for our own glory! —
Rest not, speed from fray to fray;
For now the time is ours, now comes the harvest day!
Thinned are the ranks that prove the story
Famous of valiant exploits, of our guarded land.
On, on, our noble flag, defiant stand!
Thee faithful Finnish guards yet shield from hostile hand!
Aldrig skall vár fosterjord
Af váldets makt ur oforblodda bataljonera armar ryckas.
Aldrig Ijuda skall det ord,
Att Finlands folk forrádt sin fria bygd i nord.
Falla kan den tappre blott,
Ej rygga for en faras hot, ej svika, bojas och fortryckas.
Falla, skona krigarlott!
Blif vár, sen for en seger án vi kampa fatt.
Vapen i hand, och kackt vár ovan nara!
Do for várt land ar lefva for vár ara.
Rastlost fram frán strid till strid,
Ty nu ar stunden vár oeh nu ar skordens tid!
Glesnade leder vittne bara
Herrligt om mod, om bragder, om várt lands forsvar.
Fram, fram, várt adla, trotsiga standar!
Omkring dig an din trogna finska vakt du har.
J. L. Runeberg.
CANTO TWENTY FIRST. THE ENSIGN AT THE FAIR.
Ensign Stål tells the youthful poet the story of the typical and probably fictitious old grenadier who recites the series of war-memories in this canto. The scene is supposed to be the market place of Tammerfors.
Salmis is a village near Lappo, where an indecisive battle was fought under Adlercreutz.
In the district of Umeá referred to, several minor battles had been fought between March and August 1809.
Tavasfehus was the town remembered from days of the war as the assembling place of the main Finnish army immediately after their vain attempt to prevent the advance of the Russians into the country in February 1808. Southeast of Tavastehus rose the hill Hattelmala, from whose icy heights the Ensign first beheld the city.
Karl Natanael of Klercker (1734-1817) had during Klingspor’s absence filled the latter’s post as commander of the Finnish army. Though 73 years old, he promptly collected the dispersed troops for defense at Tavastehus. Klingspor suddenly arrived, and as usual ordered a retreat. In vain the valiant Klercker offered to answer with his life for the favorable outcome of the battle. He was obliged to yield up his command, but in September 1808 he became Klingspor’s successor.
Torneá is a town upon an island in Torneá River which forms the boundary between Sweden and Finland. Here were situated the winter-quarters of the army in 1808-9 during the period of a truce, when cold, privation, and suffering were unprecedented.
This canto is a protest by the poet against the non
-support of the old soldiers, while the officers emerged from the war well provided for, or wealthy.
XXI. THE ENSIGN AT THE FAIR.
“Noble friends, both men and women, is there one among you here,
Who will listen to the singing of an aged grenadier?”
Thus, O youth, the song’s beginning; I recall its every word,
That, when last I saw the city, at the market-place I heard.
It was market-day; the people and their wares all met the eye,
Glad were not their countenances, and my wish was not to buy.
So I walked and wandered aimless, and a corner reached at last,
Where a carriage had been standing in a crush some moments past.
If design had thus delayed it, or constraint, I cannot tell;
While the driver held the horses, did a footman fume and yell.
But a man sat in the carriage ‘gainst the side in careless rest;
Sable-bordered was his mantle, and with stars was decked his breast.
And I looked and looked. An old-time memory wakened then and there;
I had seen those self-same features, I believed; but when and where?
Yes, at Lappo, yes, at Salmis, stood he mid the valiant crowd;
But at that time he was captain, now is he a general proud.
And his face was greatly altered, not alone by years of time,
Rather by that haughty imprint borne by men who lofty climb.
Was it arrogance? Perhaps not; — but, in mien and manner told,
Lay a feature of deep calmness, though distinguished, stiff and cold.
Glad to me was e’er the meeting of a comrade from that strife,
But I only gazed on this man, ne’er was warmed my heart to life;
“Vaunt!” then thought I, “Gleam and sparkle! you who once beside us stood,
Far less proud, but decked the better when you were adorned with blood!”
Now the song resounded; creaking fell the words I quoted first;
And a voice amid the murmur on the ear now harshly burst:
“Noble friends, both men and women, is there one among you here,
Who will listen to the singing of an aged grenadier?”
I was one who fain would listen, — of the grenadier’s own race,
And in silence then I turned me from the lofty general’s face;
Stepped aside, and through the concourse took my silent way along
Till I reached the aged soldier, where he sat and sang his song.
Upright, but with head uncovered, on a staircase step he sat;
With his left hand he was holding on his knee a time-worn hat,
And this hand was yet remaining, to be stretched for free-will boon,
But the right hand it was absent; war had reaped it for its own.
And he sang for all the people, for whatever ones he drew;
Poor the singing, small the earnings, and his hearers likewise few;
Ranged about his step, and faithful, stood his audience nearby;
’Twas a band of ragged urchins, and a student free, and I.
And he sang of memories lofty, days of luster long since past,
Heroes in their graves reposing, deeds from memory fading fast;
Of the war of Finland sang he, of our fatherland’s last strife,
Of our triumphs and afflictions, of our glory’s golden life.
“I have stood for bullets,” sang he, “throughout six and thirty frays,
Have endured both cold and hunger, and have watched through nights and days;
I have been a man in battle, though forgotten I may be,
Lost my better arm in Ume, and this weak one here you see.
“Of this younger race of warriors, was there one among that band,
When ’twas bid, “To weapons, warriors! Peace is ended in our land!”
Then burned fire in manly bosoms, then were all things otherwise,
Then this heart was also glowing which to-day is cold as ice.
“Tavastehus, I thee remember, flooded by the moon’s pale light,
When from Hattelmala’s highlands first on thee I turned my sight!
Late the hour, the night was bitter; weary, way-worn, I had grown,
But repose I was not seeking, thoughts of roof and hearth had flown.
“No, it was thy fields and ice-plains held my longing by their might;
More was there than home and hearthstone, more than rest through hours of night;
There was Finland’s army gathered, young and dauntless, strong and free,
And upon us looked the homeland, and upon the homeland we.
“Honor to the aged Klercker, endless honor be his own!
Well-proved septuagenarian, soldier yet and man in one.
I recall his tresses hoary when among the ranks he rode,
And his glances, like a father’s, on his boys benignly glowed.
“With six thousand sons around him, full as mighty as the foe,
Once again, with joy and glory, he a valiant front would show;
Neither doubt nor fear was reigning, war our only stimulus;
We relied upon each other, — we on him and he on us.
“Then came Klingspor, proud Field-marshal, majesty’s own counterpart,
With two chins, and one eye only, and with scarcely half a heart.
Then came Klingspor to command us, as with his high rank was meet,
And gave order, as did Klercker, but his order was,— “retreat!”
“Night, watched out upon the snow-drift, night at Tavastehus so clear,
After all the years departed, thou dost fill my memory here; —
Though our faith was all deluded, though our hope was doomed to break,
Through our triumph was but dreaming, for a heartless weakling’s sake.
“When shall he defend his action, when shall he to answer stand
For the backward move he ordered, when he “forward.” could command, —
For the shame that he has fastened on our name, our fortitude, —
For the tear-drops we were shedding when we should have shed our blood?
“Faltered we at Siikajoki, in the midst of war’s alarms?
Lay at Revolaks our vigor in our legs, not in our arms?
Adlercreutz could well have answered; Cronstedt too, and many more,
But those brave ones now are sleeping where all answering is o’er.
“I have named the pair illustrious, — glory to their spirits blest!
Many warriors their coequal now have reached their home of rest.
Dobeln slumbers, Duncker likewise; if of them a word is bid,
I must here suffice for witness, a forgotten invalid.
“Wherefore could I not have fallen, where so many heroes fell,
Where the valiant Finnish army did its triumph-records swell,
Where our glory shone the brightest, in our fortune’s kindest plays,
During Siikajoki’s, Lappo’s, Alavo’s and Salmis’ days?
“Then no more had I been driven Northern snows again to dare,
Nor to see our victory-gladness swiftly change to dark despair,
Nor to mourn a thousand brothers, doomed upon an early day,
To be strewn on Tome’s ice-fields, or at Kalix given away.
“Cruel ending of our trials, sad departure from our land!
Yet I came with some compatriots on to Vasterbotten’s strand;
And I there in true affection bled the sands of Sweden red;
Now I sit here in this market, singing for a crumb of bread!
“God preserve our noble homeland! All beside has little charm;
Well could soldier lose his fortune, or his life, or leg or arm.
God preserve our noble homeland, this the burden of my strain;
And, though other words be altered, this is ever its refrain.”
And the grenadier, arising, through the throng his pathway spun,
And of some he got a penny, of the greater number none;
Till at length he reached the carriage where the lofty general sat,
Bowed his snow-white head before him, reaching out his shabby hat.
Then the general, high and lordly, clad in glitter, gems and band,
Frowned, and snatched the hat in violence from the aged soldier’s hand, —
Looked upon him and the people, — looked, and in a moment’s space
Lay the old man’s hoard of pennies scattered o’er the market-place!
Stood the grenadier astounded; but the general spoke aflame:
“I have heard your song, have battled for our native land the same.
That these memories in the autumn of my life I yet review,
You can see; I’m proud thereover; I am prouder far than you!
“It is true, fate oft beguiled us in our bloody days of woe,
It is true that soon our triumphs were transformed to overthrow.
But to supplicate a mortal were humility and shame!
On my head my hat I carry; carry yours, old man, the same!”
He had said; a light transforming o’er his countenance now spread,
And he pressed the hat down manly on the aged soldier’s head;
More he spoke, — and in my bosom doth the heart to-day rejoice,
When I think upon his features, and recall his words and voice:
“Fall unlike the lots of fortune, so has wisdom high decreed;
I was heir to wealth and splendor, you to poverty and need;
Yet the best we hold in common, — loyalty that ne’er departs,
Honor, with our blood made sacred, and the witness of our hearts!
“Therefore we are now companions, therefore come and sit by me, —
Gladly may we share the lesser, when the greater equal be;
I have gold if you desire it, roof and bread to you belong,
You shall have belated comfort, and to me may sing your song.”
At the same time in the carriage stepped the aged grenadier;
With respect the throng divided, and began the way to clear;
And I heard the carriage rolling, as the street it hurried o’er,
But mine eyes were dim with tear-drops, and it soon was seen no more.
CANTO TWENTY SECOND. LOTTA SVARD.
Collected Works of Johan Ludvig Runeberg Page 12