Poems and Songs Part 11

Through primeval Asian forests, Over steppes and sands of deserts, 'Neath a thousand years that moldered, Saw he caravan-made footsteps Seek a new home in the Northland.

And as they the rivers followed, Followed them his thought abundant, Into Nature's All full-flowing.--

See his restless soul's creation!

Harmony of truth he yearned for, Found it not, but wonder-working New discoveries and pathways, --Like those alchemists aforetime Who, though gold was all their seeking, Found not that, but mighty forces, Which to-day the world are moving.--

Deepest ground of all his being Was the polar power of contrast, For his thought, to music wakened By the touch of _Northern Saga_, Vibrated melodious longing, Toward the _South_ forever tending.

In his eye the lambent fire, Of his thought the glint, showed kins.h.i.+p With the free improvisator In the land of warmth and vineyards.

And his swiftly changing feeling And his all-consuming ardor, That could toil the livelong winter Till caprice the fruit discarded,-- That immeasurable richness Wherein thoughts and moods and music, Joy and sorrow, jest and earnest, Gleamed and played without cessation,-- All a Southern day resembled!

Therefore was his life a journey, Towards the South in constant movement,-- Through the mists of intuition, From the darker to the brighter, From the colder to the warmer,-- On the bridge of ceaseless labor Bearing over sea and mountain!

Oh, the time with wife beside him And his bonny playmate-sisters (Gladsome children, winsome daughters), When he stood, where evening suns.h.i.+ne Glowed on Capitol and Forum,-- Stood where from the great world-city, As from history's very fountain, Knowledge wells in streams of fullness;-- Where a clearness large and cloudless Falls upon the bygone ages That have laid them down to rest here;-- Where to him, the Northern searcher, It would seem, he had been straying Too long lost in history's fogland, Rowing round the deep fjords' surface;-- Stood where dead men burst the earth-clods And themselves come forth for witness In their heavy marble togas;-- Where the G.o.ddesses of Delos In the frescoed halls are dancing, As two thousand years before now;-- Pantheon and Coliseum In their s.p.a.cious fate have sheltered All the world's swift evolution;-- Where a Hermes from that corner Saw the footsteps firm of Cato, Pontifex in the procession,-- Saw then Nero as Apollo Lifted up take sacrifices, Saw then Gregory, the wrathful, Riding forth to rule in spirit Over all the known world's kingdoms,-- Saw then Cola di Rienzi Homage pay to freedom's G.o.ddess 'Mid the Roman people's paeans,-- Saw Pope Leo and his princes Choose instead of the Lord Jesus Aristotle dead and Plato;- Saw again how stouter epochs Raised the Church of Papal power, Till the Frenchman overthrew it And exalted Nature's G.o.dhead; Saw anew then wonted custom In its pious, still processions With a Lamb the great world's ruler!-- All this saw the little Hermes On the corner near the temple, And the wise man from the Northland Saw that Hermes and his visions.

Yes, when over Rome he stood there In that high, historic clearness, And his eye the mountain-ridges Followed toward the red of evening,-- Then all beams of longing focused In a blessed intuition, And -- he saw a church before him Greater far than that of nature, And he felt a peace descending, Larger far than all the present.

When the second time he came there, After days and nights of labor, Hard as were it for redemption,-- Then the Lord Himself gave welcome, Led him gently thither, saying: "Peace be with thee! Thou hast conquered!"

But to us with sorrow stricken Turned the Lord with comfort, saying: "When _I_ call, who then dares murmur, That the called man had not finished?"

Whoso dies, he here had finished!

Spite our sorrow we believe it, Hold that He, who unrest giveth (The discoverer's disquiet, That drove Newton, drove Columbus), Also knows when rest is needed.

But we question, while reviewing All that mighty thought-armada Now disbanded, home-returning: Who again shall reunite it?

For when _he_ cut his war-arrow, Lords and liegemen soon were mustered, And to aid from Sweden, Denmark, England, France, swift-flying vessels Coursed the sea-ways toward his standard.

Royal was that fleet and mighty, By our sh.o.r.e at anchor lying; We were wont to see it near us Or to hear the wondrous tidings Of its cruises and its conquests.

What it won we own forever; But the fleet is sailing homeward.

Here we stand the last sail watching As it sinks on the horizon.

Then we turn and breathe the question: Who again shall reunite it?

KING FREDERIK THE SEVENTH (1863) (See Note 21)

Our King is bereft of a trusty friend!

And in dismay We lower our banners and sad attend On his burial day.

But Denmark, in sorrow most deep thou waitest, For fallen the life that was warmest, greatest, And fallen the tower Of mightiest power.

Bewailing the death of their kingly chief, Men voice their grief.

For Denmark's salvation the man was born Who now is dead.

When banished in youth from the court in scorn, To his people he fled.

There throve he right well, there grew he together With peasants and sailors in foul and fair weather, While fullness of living Its schooling was giving; When ready for Denmark was laid the snare, Then he was there!

Now soon it was plain, he was peasant-skulled For their tricks; and hence The traitors' shrewd schemings were all annulled By his bit of sense.

He knew but one thing;--what his people thought them, And therefore in danger he freedom brought them.

The whole was his vision, He would no scission; His words were but few, and of these the key: "It shall not be!"

He stood by the helm like a sailor good, In no storm remiss; Of praise the tribute he never would, But he shall have _this_!

The s.h.i.+p to the North he unswerving directed,-- In storm or in fog, exposed or protected;-- And fear allaying, All folk were saying: "He isn't so stupid as people tell, For all goes well!"

"On deck every man!" was his last command, "There's storm again!"

When answered the cry from the mast-head: "Land!"

Oh, then, just then, Were loosed from the helm the true hands that were steering, In death he sank down, while the s.h.i.+p began veering-- No, never veering!

To the course adhering!

Now, Denmark, united, with all thy force Hold straight his course!

He made it his honor, in line to stand, No rank to know; But shoulder to shoulder to lend a hand, And pride forego.

They gather now fruit of his faithful training: Well drilled, every man at his post is straining.

The course is steady, For tried and ready Is many a helmsman, and all their will Is "Northward still!"

Naught else can they do now, but with good cheer Hold out they must, Stand guard in the darkness and have no fear, In G.o.d their trust.

It is sultry and silent, and yearning in sorrow All breathless they listen and wait for the morrow,-- 'T is time for waiting, Till, night abating, The eastern sky reddens and bright dawn speeds The day of deeds!

TO SWEDEN (DECEMBER 28, 1863) (See Note 22)

Lift thou thine ancient yellow-blue!

Aloft the front must show it.

The German's slow to take the cue, But seeing that he'll know it.

He'll know that greater danger's near Than ink on Bismarck's trousers; That it will cost him doubly dear, Men, horses, bovine browsers;

That ten years' nonsense now is done, The daily quarrel dirty Will soon become a war with one Who held his own for thirty;

The Northland's stubborn folk allied Their forces are uniting, With glorious memories to guide, The Northern heavens lighting;

That great Gustavus once again To battle glad is riding, But now _against_ the Southern men _With_ Christian Fourth is siding,--

With Haakon Earl the times of old Round Palnatoki gather; Near Charles the Twelfth stands Tordenskjold, Placid, and smiling rather,--

That we, who have so well known how To fight against each other, Shall not exactly scorn earn now, When brother stands with brother.

But forward _thou_ the way must lead With stirring drum-beats' rattle, Thy marching-step we all must heed, Thou 'rt known on fields of battle.

That ancient Swedish melody, Renowned in world-wide glory, Not merely for the heart's deep plea In Jenny's travel-story,--

But for the solemn earnestness To Lutzen's battle calling, And for the daring strains no less, That rang at Narwa's falling,--

The song thou sang'st the North t' inspire With virtue and with power, _The three must with united choir Lift up this very hour!_

It now must bear aloft a hymn, The call of G.o.d proclaiming; Pictures of blood its lines shall limn, Drawn bold in letters flaming,--

Its name shall be: "The Free North's Hymn!"

Of all the hymns thou voicest, Whose glory time shall never dim, It shall be first and choicest.