MEMORY.
ONCE more in the solitude a visit
From departed friends, dear and lamented,
From the figures of my blissful season;
Lake by cottage, cottage, woodland, mountain,
My amusements, my enjoyments, visions,
And my first love’s sighing in its blossom!
Oh, I ponder upon nature’s goodness,
That amidst regret she grants us memory,
Which the past time’s bliss so sweet and cooling,
Like a morning-dew the heart sheds over,
Even when the mid-day’s sun is burning.
THE PAINTER.
THOU wishest for a place within my rhymes now,
Dear maiden, thou hast asked me a thousand times now,
To try in tints poetical to trace, —
Some idle day, the features of thy face.
My pencil shall be spared no more, however;
Choose but the hour, and, while thou sitt’st, endeavour
In look, demeanour, temper and in form
To mine, the artist’s, orders to conform.
Be beautiful! ’tis beauty’s proper part, but
To be united to the soul of art; — but
A maid is beautiful, when glad and gay;
Be therefore glad, whene’er I come thy way.
Be tender! for though much thy beauty weigheth,
Yet winning grace the heart alone displayeth;
Fix therefore ever, for the sake of grace,
A look of fire and love upon my face.
And goodness in the picture should be lying:
Desire for giving, soothing, gratifying.
Whenever idle, then, forget not this,
To stretch thy purple mouth out for a kiss.
Fair, tender, good, what glow would fire thy stature!
Yet slightly selfish should be painters’ nature:
And, therefore, say, whene’er I draw a line,
That thou for ever, ever wilt be mine.
THE TWO.
IN the palace-halls are gleaming
Thousand lamps, like sunlight blazing,
And ‘midst floods of light are streaming
Odours delicate, amazing.
All is ordered, guests are coming
Who o’er fortune’s summits hover,
Autumns wither, springs are blooming,
Whom both gold and jewels cover.
Silence deep awhile falls o’er them
All, as though for prayers preparing,
Till the hero steps before them,
Every eye upon him staring.
’Tis the groom, in stars redundant,
Orders gay his costume weighting;
With her heaven of bliss abundant
For the fair bride he is waiting.
And she cometh with her father;
See her, at his gentle leading,
Midst the noble guests that gather,
To her bridegroom’s side proceeding.
Is she happy, can she feel now
Any earthly blessing wanted?
Can a wish itself reveal now,
Which is not already granted?
Ah, she stands there pallid, taking
Little heed of all the splendour;
‘Neath her crown her locks are quaking,
Tears her eye o’erclouded render.
To the marriage-questions spoken,
But her lip the Yes replieth,
Thought and being both betoken
That she far, far off abieth.
Outside of the palace swells a
Sea upon the lonely skerry,
With their wreath of firs the fells a
Murky night in gloom doth bury.
On the rocks all foam-bestrown there
Canst thou see a spectre straying?
In the chilly eve alone there
May’st thou see a young man staying.
Autumn’s storm-cloud onward presses,
Yet no way the youth recedeth;
Dew, congealing in his tresses,
As a thing of nought he heedeth.
And the sea’s white surf-spray, streaming
O’er the fells, upon him playeth,
Oh, he goes on with his dreaming,
’Tis his shade alone that stayeth.
Oh, when heart as heart is, mark there,
‘Twixt the two what oneness showeth;
See him in the night so dark there,
Her in halls where splendour gloweth.
Nightly darkness, daylight’s flame then,
All that cheereth, all that paineth,
Is it not one and the same then,
When life’s root a hurt sustaineth?
THE VAIN WISH.
UNNUMBERED the billows wander
About the sea’s glistening way,
Oh, were I but with them yonder,
A wave in the ocean astray!
So deeply indifferent-minded,
So carelessly chilly and clear,
So utterly unreminded
Of bygone blissfuller year!
Yet, were I a billow roving,
The same as I am should I show,
For here in a crowd I am moving
Of chilly billows also.
With pleasure and pain they are gaming,
They weep and make merry for play,
But I have my heart all aflaming,
Oh, were I but outside as they.
IN A YOUNG GIRL’S ALBUM.
WARM the spring-sun in the heaven glowed,
Gleamed the fields with dew and insects swarming,
On the mead a youthful violet shewed;
Know’st thou what she thought, that floweret charming?
Why, she thought: “How lovely, here to live,
Here to charm, hope, laugh, enjoy for ever;
Thou who light and hue to me didst give,
Let my blooming never finish, never!”
So she prayed, was it an idle prayer?
Was it joy or grief that she was seeking?
Was she, praying to be young and fair,
Of her heart or of her cheek then speaking?
Like the floweret pray, thou, flower also!
Life and charms life’s angel loveth dearly;
Pray thou then, but for thy flower-soul, so,
For thy floweret-stem is transient merely.
TO THE LADIES.
THE youth, when he his greeting bringeth you,
With soul on fire, with brow that garlands weareth,
Awards the prize unto your cheeks’ fair hue:
His homage to their bloom; while our’s another shareth.
We also love life’s springtime’s splendours gay,
But such, as shall endure, when springs have fled away.
Years more than his have our experience made,
Their gifts like wind are changing every hour.
While best it burns the meadow-flower will fade,
No other fate awaits the cheeks’ fair flower.
Who loved it not what day its smiles it wore?
But still there comes a day, when it is seen no more.
There is a flower to which we homage own,
A healing herb for pain as well as pleasure.
Its name is Love; which coy, not glittering, grown
And nursed in patience, is your warm hearts’ treasure.
Where it can heal, there first it comes to sight,
So sweet, though earnest, and in weakness full of might.
For joy and cheer, from cradle to our grave,
From days that are gone by, to days still coming,
For all the tears that it has dried, we have
To own our homage to this hidden flower blooming:
This shoot, a seedling of eternity,
Oh, never leave it here to fade, or shrink, or die.
IDYLLS AND EPIGRAMS.
I.
HOME the maid came from her lover’s meeting,
> Came with reddened hands. — The mother questioned:
“Wherewith have thy hands got reddened, Maiden?”
Said the maiden: “I have plucked some roses,
And upon the thorns my hands have wounded.”
She again came from her lover’s meeting,
Came with crimson lips. — The mother questioned:
“Wherewith have thy lips got crimson, Maiden?”
Said the maiden: “I have eaten strawberries,
And my lips I with their juice have painted.”
She again came from her lover’s meeting,
Came with pallid cheeks. — The mother questioned:
“Wherewith are thy cheeks so pallid, Maiden?”
Said the Maiden: “Make a grave, oh, Mother!
Hide me there, and place a cross thereover,
And cut on the cross what now I tell thee: —
Once she came home, and her hands were reddened,
For betwixt her lover’s hands they reddened.
Once she came home, and her lips were crimson,
‘Neath her lover’s lips they had grown crimson.
Last, she came home, and her cheeks were pallid,
For they blanched beneath her lover’s treason.”
II.
FIRST asunder burst the brook’s first bubbles,
First depart the spring-time’s first-blown flowers,
But thy first love, heart in youth rejoicing,
Will outlive a long time any other.
III.
OF his good luck spoke thus once a bridegroom:
“Sunday next the last time banns are pub
Monday next I celebrate my wedding,
Thursday next my bride I bring home with me.”
Sunday came — the last time banns were published,
Monday came — the wedding celebrated,
Thursday came — the house-warming was given,
But a house-warming in tears and sorrow,
For home to the grave his bride he carried.
IV.
FIFTEEN years the boy attained — believing
Yet that no love in the world existed,
And he lived for five more years — believing,
Not e’en then, love in the world existed.
Came then suddenly a pretty maiden,
Who within a few short hours taught him,
What in twenty years he had not got at.
V.
MYRTLES twain there stand in Laura’s window,
And the one unceasingly she waters,
While the other in the pot is dried up;
Why is one thus tended, one forgotten?
From one and the same she did not get them.
But the one was from her youthful lover,
And the other from her husband — agéd.
VI.
WHEN the lovely May with wind-flowers cometh,
Maids are wont to wreath their auburn tresses,
Hastening to the ring-dance round their May-pole,
While the dancing lasteth all are merry.
Merry she, who wears the pretty trinket,
Merry she, whose floweret-crown befits her,
Merry she, who feels her cheek grow ruddy;
Askest thou who of them all is merriest?
She who in the ring her bridegroom seeth.
VII.
O’ER the grave two poplar trees are rustling,
Where a faithful youth in dust reposeth,
Planted erewhile by his maiden’s hands there.
In the poplars’ shade now grow the children
Which she bore unto another husband,
Chasing butterflies and culling flowers.
VIII.
MIDST some fresh-grown flowers through the greenwood
Walked the kindly maiden very lonely,
And she broke a new-born rose then saying,
Lovely flower, if thou but wings possessedst,
Would I send thee onward to my lover;
Two light messages I then would fasten,
On the right wing one, on the left the other.
One: that he should do no less than kiss thee,
And the other: Hither back should send thee.
IX.
IN her wooer’s arms there wept a maiden,
And bewailed her miserable fortune:
“Only yesternight, oh youth beloved,
“Burnt my cottage, burnt my cattle also,
“All, ah, all, I in the world possessed!”
In his soul the youth rejoiced then, thinking:
“Is the faithful maiden’s cottage burnt up,
“Doubly will she henceforth love my cottage;
“Are he many herds of cattle burnt up,
“Doubly then my herds her heart will gladden;
“Has she lost all earthly goods, then shall I
“Be unto her doubly, doubly precious.”
X.
IN the Park once built a pair of finches.
In the spring the male sang without ceasing,
In the summer ‘gan he to grow silent,
And by autumn grows he mute entirely.
Wherefore? — Why, so long as spring-time lasted
Thought he of his mate and of love only;
But with summer-tide came cares upon him,
For his home and for his tiny young ones;
And with autumn came the days on chilly,
And a longing only hence to fly off.
XI.
BUTTERFLIES, babes of spring,
Laughing wee flowerets, ye,
Bushes and verdant trees,
Wither, oh, wither soon;
Pictures of youth to me,
Pictures of love to me,
Wither, oh wither, soon!
Sold to an old man’s breast,
I have no love for you.
XII.
“SPRINGTIME flieth swiftly,
Swifter still the summer;
Long the autumn tarries,
Longer still the winter;
Soon, oh, cheeks so beauteous,
Shall you have to wither,
Never more to blossom.”
Then the youth made answer:
“Still in days of autumn
Springtime’s memories cheer us;
Into days of winter
Reach the summer’s harvests;
Spring is free to vanish,
Free the cheek to wither,
Let us only love now,
Let us only kiss now!”
XIII.
“BENT ‘gainst the fence the youth Stood at his maiden’s arm,
Looked o’er a meadow mown:
“Summer’s fair tide hath flown,
Flowers have all withered now;
Nathless thy cheek is fair,
Roses and lilies there
Bloom still as erst they did.”
Spring came again, and then
Stood he there, — but alone:
Gone was the maiden — lay
Withered within earth’s breast;
Green was the mead again,
Laughing with flowers o’erspread.
XIV.
MINNA sat the grove in,
Looked upon the wreath
All of roses woven,
On her lap beneath.
And a tear she shed then
On the flowers below,
Prayed the gentle maid then
To the fair wreath so:
“Once thou hast surrounded
My youth’s head, fair thing,
Breathe thou but around it
Balm of love and spring.
If thou may’st not stay there
On the yellow hair,
Then thou must betray there
Minna’s hidden tear.”
XV.
“NATURE, ah, how could I ever Have offended thee?
Others gav’st thou beauty, never
Beauty gav’st to me.
Oft
outside the ring completed
I am left behind,
To plain me, no look is meted,
Not a friend I find.
Beats like others’ hearts mine own, and
Loves as well as they, —
Wherefore must I walk alone, and
Be despised alway? -
XVI.
COUNSELS three the mother gave her daughter:
Not to sigh, and not be discontented,
And to kiss no young man whatsoever. —
Mother, if thy daughter trespass never,
Trespass never ‘gainst your last-named counsel,
She will trespass ‘gainst the first two, surely.
XVII.
ALL Saint John’s Eve spends the maiden knitting
Round the soft stems of the verdant corn-blades
Silken ribbons, all of various colours;
But she goes out, on the morning after,
To inquire into her fate in future. —
Now then, hear, how there the maid behaveth:
Has the black stalk grown, — the stalk of sorrow, —
Talketh she and grieveth with the others.
Has the red stalk grown, — the stalk of gladness, —
Talks she and rejoiceth with the others.
Has the green stalk grown, — the stalk of love, — then
Keeps she silent, in her heart rejoicing.
XVIII.
TO a fountain spake a youth right angry:
Fountain, meadow’s eye, thou naughty fountain,
Thousand times my maiden has already
Mirrored in thine azure lap her visage;
But thou guardest not the lovely image,
Thou preservest not my maiden’s features.
When she goes, her image, too, is vanished,
And thereafter vainly search I for it.
Shall I punish thee, thou naughty fountain,
Stir thy billow muddy, dig thee out, and
Then tread down the flowery banks around thee?
Then the fountain prayed a prayer, saying:
“Youth, and why should I by thee be punished,
Why my billow muddied, why be dug out,
And down-trod the flowery banks around me?
I am but a daughter of the Water,
Have no blood, and have no fervid pulses,
Do not love, nor have I love returned.
Worse it is, that in thy very bosom,
In thine own heart’s very fervid fountain
Seldom lasts the maiden’s memory longer,
Than the while she stands in beauty for thee.”
XIX.
TO her aged mother said the daughter:
“Will my wedding not come off next autumn?”
Said the Mother: “Let it wait till springtime;
Spring, my daughter, suiteth best for marriage;
Collected Works of Johan Ludvig Runeberg Page 34