Canto VII

Page 2

XIII.

To that far heav’n my love belongest,
        More than this earth, — receive it then;
In heav’n ‘twas nurtured, and it longeth
        To reach its starry home again.
How bless’d were he already yonder!
        How bless’d who now with thee could die, —
And conqu’ring, ‘mong the gods could wander
        Embracing his pale maid on high!


XIV.

Then, when from silver gates out riding,
        Its chamions rush’d to war’s fierce glee,---
Still at thy friendly side abiding
        Should I be found, — still gaze on thee!
Did Valhla’s blushing maids round proffer
        The mead-horns, rich with foam of gold,
I thee alone would pledge, thee offer,
        In gentle whispers, love untold.


XV.

A leaf-deck’d bow’r I there would build us,
        Near some bold headland’s dark-blue bay;
The deep grove’s verdant shades would shield us, —
        That grove whose gold-fruit blooms for aye!
When Valhal’s sun flam’d up again (and
        How dear, how lord-like is its glow!)
Back to the gods returned we then, and
        Yet long’d we home again to go!


XVI.

Yes, there I’d crown with stars far-glancing
        Thy brow and locks of waving light;
In Vingolf’s hall I’d lead thee dancing,
        Till rose-red blush’d my lily white!
Then, from the mazy course I led thee
        To love’s and peace’s blissful bow’r.
Where silver-bearded Brage ‘d wed thee
        With bride-songs new each eve’s soft hour.


XVII.

How, through the grove, the quail is screaming;
        That song is from high Valhal’s strand.
How, o’er the sound, the moon is gleaming;
        He shines from out the spirit’s land.
That son, that light, both herald truthful
        A world of love from sorrow free;
Ah! fain I’d see that world so youthful,
        With thee, my Ingeborg, with thee!


XVIII.

Nay, weep not! Life as yet red streameth
        Through these full veins! Oh, weep no more!
The dreams that love and proud youth dreameth
        So soon from earth up heav’nward soar.
Should once half op’d those pretty arms be,
        Once hither turn’d those loving eyes,
Entranc’d no more, my maid quick charms me
        Back from the glories of the skies! . . . . . .


XIX.

“The lark; hush!” No! those light-trill’d numbers
        Some cooing dove’s fond faith exprest;
In grassy tuft the lark still slumbers,
        Close by its mate, in soft warm nest.
They, happy they! can love united
        At dawning as at closing day;
Through heaven’s side space they soar delighted,
        Not freer the wings that cleave their way . . . . . .


XX.

“See! that’s the dawn there!” No! dim streaming
        Some beacon’s flame illumes you east.
We yet can speak our hearts’ fond dreaming.
        Not yet dear lovely night hath ceas’d.
O’ersleep thee, golden star, I pray, nor
        Make haste from thy long sleep to wake;
For Fridthjof mayst thou sleep all day, or —
        If so thou wilt — till Ragnarok!


XXI.

In vain! fresh dawn-streaks heav’n discloses,
        Morn’s wind e’en now blows keen and bleak,
Already bud those eastern roses,
        Fresh like to those on Ing’b0rg’s cheek.
Hark! sweet that fether’d song-troop twitters,
        Unthinking, in the bright’ning sky;
Existence moves, the billow glitters,
        And far the shades and lover fly!


XXII.

There comes she now in all her glory!
        Pardon me, golden sun, my pray’r;
I feel, I know, a god’s before me —
        But yet how brilliant, oh! how fair!
Oh, happy he, who trod unclouded
        And valiant as thou treadest now;
And proud and glad his weak life shrouded
        In light and vict’ry — like as thou!


XXIII.

Behold! before thee, god of splendor,
        The fairest stands in all the North.
Become, bright sun, her strong defender —
        Thine image she on this green earth.
Her soul is pure as thine own lustre;
        Her eye, like thine own heaven, is blue;
And round her forehead ringlets cluster
        Dyed in thin own dark-golden hue! . . . . . .


XXIV.

Farewell, my dearest! We each other
        Some longer night again shall see.
Farewell! — one kiss! Ah! another
        On those red lips accord to me!
Sleep now; and all these scenes dream over;
        At midday wake, and faithful tell
The hours, like me: Regret they lover,
        And burn as I. Farewell! Farewell!