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Forfatter(e) | Author(s): transl. from the Danish by Mrs. A. M. Krebs.
Titel | Title: A few poems
Udgivet år og sted | Publication time and place: Cph, 1863 Fysiske størrelse | Physical extent: 58 s.
DK
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DA 1.-2.S 53 8°
1 1 5 3 0 8 0 1 1 5 8 6
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH
BY
krebs.
C O P E N H A G E N .
C. A. REITZEL, EDITOR & BOOKSELLER.
1863.
THE DEATH OF ABEL
by F. f^aludan Miiller 1
THE TWO CHURCH STEEPLES
by Oehlensclilager 41
A FRAGMENT OF HELGE ^an Epic Poem)
by Oehlenschlager 50
SIR AAGE AND LADY ELSE
by Oehlenschlager 56
BY
P A L U D A N M U L L E R .
1
et listening' imto tlie doom, which laid Its curse upon his brow, and thenceforth made Him^ugitive on earth, stood Cain — in dread, He trembling glanc'd around — then swiftly fled.But on the field now Abel bleeding lies, And to his aid his mother swiftly flies, Who from afar with horror Cain beheldj As to the ground her favourite he fell'd.
She stands beside him now — in the last throes He trembling lay — and from his heart arose A heavy groan, whilst through the open'd vein Upon his brow, a bright, empurpled stain,
His yellow hair receiv'd. And whilst in dread His mother near him stood, his spirit fied.
«Mine Abel! Son! my son!« she loudly cries,
«What, what is done! All fearfully thine eyes
«Turn towards heaven! — Alas that bloody stain (.Reveals to me, that thou hast sufFer'd pain.»
And kneeling down upon the ground in haste, Her son she closely in her arms embracd;
She wipes the blood, that stains his hair and cheeks, And tenderly, with tears, she to him speaks.
With healing herbs she bindeth up his wound, But from his breast proceedeth now no sound, Speeehless and pale, within her arms he lies, — And half in terror now, half in surprise,
Upon the verdant turf her son she lays;
Then tries his hand inanimate to raise —
But like the stalk, when snapt hath been the tie, Which bound it to the root, thus suddenly His hand falls now from hers. — Into his eyes She gazes, but no glance to hers replies;
A dreary vacancy alone is there,
Which in her heart awakens greater fear.
No! thus she would behold hiin never more;
Those eyes the lids she gently closes o'er;
Within her own, his passive hand she lays, And with a look, which all her dread betrays, In speechless agouy she sitteth there.
Unto the hillock Adam went to pray;
But Eve now calleth: „Come, behold thy boy!
^jCome to thy child, who fill'd thy soul with joy!"
And Adam turns, and to the spot he hies, Where on his grassy coiich their Abel lies.
„Behold" she says ,,my beauteous boy behold!
,,ne lies dejceted, he that is so bold;
„Mute are his lips, all pale's his bleeding brow, ,,And blaneh'd that cheek which wore so bright a glow."
,,What hath bechanc'd?" the father doth exclaim, Whilst leaning over Abel's prostrate frame.
Lve sigh'd: „His brother 'gainst him rais'd his hand;
„And struck his forehead erewhile with this brand ;
„Forever from his home, all fill'd with dread
„Of the Lord's anger, Cain e'en now hath fled"*
Adam replied; „The boy but deeply sleeps;
„A darksome dream his soul inthralled keeps;
„Hast thou forgotten how, when he was small,
„He from the lofty palm-tree's branch did fall,
„And bruised deeply on the stone his brow?
„Stunned he even then did lie as now.
„Here we will watch beside him, thou and I,
„And wrapped in my mantle shall he lie,
„Until he from this sleep profound awakes."
And then the woollen mantle Adam takes, To screen his Abel from the sun and heat, And lays it o'er his face so pale and sweet;
Then sitting down, he took within his own That hand, flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.
And thus they sate, bow'd down by time's full weight, For unto souls in an expectant state,
The wave of time is ever all too slow.
As drop by drop, it only seems to flow;
And ne'er before, Eve thought so slow its pace.
Full oft the cloak she rais'd from Abel's face,
With gentle hand, and wistfully she spies, If yet he may not have unclos'd his eyes — If from its sleep be yet not rous'd his soul. — But its clos'd gates she only doth behold.
Full oft near to his lips and breast, her ear She holds, trying if there she may not hear, A sound of life come from his beating heart, Or tidings through his breathing thence depart.
But there, as in the deep's still caves, its reign Silence yet holds. And then when she again Hides him beneath the cloak, and Adam's eye Would question her, her lips give no replyj Her only answer was a mournful look, As Abel's passive hand she gently took.
And thus did many an hour onward steal.
But suddenly she crieth: „Dost thou feel?
„How icy cold he is? A wintry chili
„Hath settled near his heart, his frame doth fili."
She took the eloak more closely still to wrap His limbs, and gently then upon her lap She laid his head, some comfort for her heart E en thus to gain. But Adam would not part
From Abel, and he softly mov'd, that where The boy's head rested, he might sit quite near.
And when all weary of the tears she'd wept Throughout that day of wo, at last she slept, And when her heavy brow droop'd on her breast, He took them both within his arms to rest — A faithful guard he sate beside them there, When night and all its bright stars did appear.
II.
When glowing red the next day's sun arose, Adam awaken'd Eve from her repose;
And Eve the mantle quickly pull'd away,
To rouse her son — still rigid and cold he lay, But ah, how ehang'd! His lips all blue appear, By darksome rings his eyes disfigur'd were — And Strange seem'd ev'ry feature to their sight.
Then quickly rose the two, fiU'd with affright — And Eve exclaim'd: »Did he but sleep awhile,
„In gentle peace, his lips would sweetly smile,
„And roses bright would blush upon his cheeks.
„But no! he doth not sleep!" And Adam speaks:
„Wliat then is this? The boy, as now, mine eye
„Hath never seen. Quickly the cloak untie!
„For when his heart may feel the bright sun's heat,
„It will again as erewhile lively beat."
And that bright orb, which with its burning ray IMetes time upon the sky, all hotly shed
Its beams on the young shepherd, round whose bed, The ground soon burn'd with heat, and os he lay So cold and elamray, vapours rose — but still, Would from his heart not go that icy chili.
And Eve and Adam went, and came again.
But could no comfort from the sight obtain, t or each time they again to him drew near.
His face more strange unto them did appear.
Thus pass'd the day. — The sun set as in blood, And close to Abel both together stood,
Like weeping-willows, stooping mournfully.
rhen suddenly did Adam raise his eye.
And say unto his wife: ,,Dost thou forget
„What the Lord spake? Dost thou remember yet
„His words in Paradise, beneath the sky
„Of blushing eve: that we should surely die?'"
„What is: to die?" Eve softly whisper'd. „1
„Do know it not;" said Adam in reply
„But since the time our wand'rings did commence,
„When the Lord's rightful anger drove us thence^
„From Paradise, Fve borne this Death in me.
„And wheresoe'er I aught of new did see,
„I fain must ever think; If Death this were?
„If, thou for sin shouldst reap the payment here?
„Again this thought within me did arise.
„If this were Death, which here hath met our eyes?
„For Strange like Death, the boy d.oth now appear,
„As pale, and mute, we see him lying there."
„Yes, yes," sigh'd Eve „our punishment behold!
„This unknown Death its terrors doth unfold —
„Hath reach'd his heart — for he is not awake,
„Nor doth he sleep." And Adam then did take The rigid form, and closely eov'r it o'er;
Then, gloomy, to the tent his son he bore.
III.
Within the tent lay Eve in restless dreams.
She is with Cain^ — unto her soul it seems, — Within the darksorae forest, where he goes, From place to place, yet findiug no repose — And when he pauses 'tis to hear the song Of the wild wind, as it doth rush along
The branches. Then she sees him iu her dream, Enter into a cave, where he doth seem
To seek concealment, and there e'en to be StruggHng against his soul's dark agony.
She would approach — but suddenly she tries In vain to breathe, for pois'nous vapours rise
From out the cave — and from her dream she wakes.
Her soul seems palsied still, nor yet forsakes That choking sense her breath, and with affright She looks into the darkness of the night,
Until again the open door her eye
Now finds. And there, beneath the starlight sky, The outlines of a form appear'd. It leant
Half-hid against the door. Into the tent
It seem'd to gaze — and whilst o'er all around A death-like stillness reign'd, she heard the sound As of a low-breath'd sigh. It from a heart Fill'd with a dire yearning did depart — Which from its dreary solitude had fled,
From dark remorse, from bitter grief and dread, . Its home, forever lost, once more to see.
But from her couch arose Eve silently, And moving softly, that she might not scare The fearful shadow, she at once drew near The door. At sight of her, quickly its head The dark form rais'd, and trembling in wild dread It turned from the tent, aud o'er the field
It swiftly fled. But Eve whose heart reveal'd This was her first-born, sought to stay his flight.
„i\Iy son! my son! Cain leave me not!" she crieth,
„Roam no more in the wood, and desert place!"
But as a frighten'd deer, which in the chase Is fearful of the spear, he mutely flies, To seek concealment from his mother's eyes.
But then Eve sped, as if with wings she'd flown;
She thought but of the grief he must have known,
She felt her son was lost — and ere the wood He gain'd, at length she close beside him stood, As in the East appear'd the dawn of day.
She stretch'd her arm, as if his flight to stay — He turn'd as if in dread, yet menacing;
With clenched hand, he stood there, threatening;
His eye was wild — the courage of despair, His brow and mouth the impress of did wear.
A horror dire his mother's soul assails, lu agony her heart all trembling fails,
O'er her blauch'd cheeks no word an utterance finds, Her failing sight a misty giddiness blinds —
Then to the wood Cain quickly turn'd around, And rustling leaves beneath his footsteps sound, Before the cloud of horror could depart,
trom Eve, and ere she with a broken heart.
But mute, without one sound that told her wo, Across the fieids in loneliness could go.
IV.
From the bright sky the morning sun shone clear, As Eve unto the tent again drew near;
But on her steps she falleth back with fear — Her breathing is assail'd by pois'nous air;
She feels again the sickeniug sense of dread, As when erewhile her auxious dream had fled.
Awhile she paus'd, then resolutely Avent Quickly through the opening of the tent.
She Adam wakes, and with foreboding dread, She leads him to the nook where they had laid Their son. He rais'd the boy upon his arm, And brought him to the air, so fresh and warm, And laid him on the ground. There, as he lay, Adam the cov'ring quickly pull'd away —
Then suddenly, with fear, are blanch'd Eve's cheeks The boy's whole frame with stifling vapour reeks;
By blackening biles disrigur'd, ev'ry trace Was gone of life and beauty; from his face Rigid and cold, and yellow e'en as clay, Each impress of the soul had pass'd away.
„What wo is this!" with broken voice Eve cries;
„Upon the earth a horror Abel lies!
„A stinking carcass, a disgusting sight!
„To ev'ry sense a terror, and a blight!
„And liim I did close to my heart sustain —
„And brought liim forth into the world with pain —
„And lovingly within iny arms caress'd —
jjHe SLick'd his infant nurture from my breast.
„My blood against mine own blood doth arise! —
„But by the terrors of the night mine eyes
„Are clouded! — Ay of this, Death is the name!
„First it reach'd Abel — then to Cain it came,
„And stamp'd a mark of fierceness on his brow,
„So that his birth he even curseth now;
„For like a beast of prey's is now his eye,
„Having that fierceness which doth seem to lie
„Within the beast's, since it was driv'n away
„With lis from Paradise, and felt the sway
„Of the Strange terror. — Both my sons the blow
„Of Death have felt! — All all is over now!
„And broken, even of blood, have been the ties —•
„All our happiness in the dust now lies,
„As wither'd leaves, which by the winds of heav'n
„Unto the ground forevermore are driv'n."
As snaps some chord in musie, thus the sound Of Eve's voice died away; upon the ground She threw herself, and long in anguish lay, Speechless. But Adam who would fain essay His wife to comfort, though most comfortless Himself — bow'd down by life's distress — Seateth himself quite near her, silently.
Then unto him, Eve rais'd her tearful eye:
,,Ah" saith she „why, ah why should Abel dieV
„What hath he done, that Death so cold should lie
„Around his heart? How loving he us'd to be,
„E'en as a child, when vvandering with me
„In the green fieids j or when at dawn of day
„With laughing eyes, he with the dog would play
„Near our tent. And how he could delight,
„The birds, with eyes to foliow in their flight,
„And raise like them his voice in joyful song,
„When through the woods with me he walk'd along.
„And when he grew more old, and bolder grew,
„How faithful was lie then. A shepherd true,
„The young lambs found in him, who knew no fear,
„And if a beast did ever venture near,
„trom out the hills, his flock he ne'er forsook,
„But would protect them with his shepherd's hook.
„How willingly he ever us obey'd —
„And oh! how zealous was he when he pray'd!
„How did he, with his heart's pure, ardent flame,
„Before the Lord, surpass us, to our shame!
„So innocent he was, and yet so wise,
„He e'er reminded me of Paradise,
„For when I look'd on him, in mem'ry rose
„Each angel which itself did there disclose.
„And all is pass'd! And never more shall I
„Into his liquid eye gaze jojfully,
,,And at the gentle sound of his sweet voice,
„My heart shall never, never more rejoice.
„Wo s me! that 1 a mother's joy have known!
„Sorrow alone is mine — all joy is gone!"
2
Silent she lay all day. — When eve was come, Adam, whose eyes at times around would roam, Saw hawks and ravens from the forest fly, Which by their flight he knew, and by their cry.
In crowds they gather'd, and, as if at play, Fly round about, and rise, and fall did they.
And flap their wings; and slowly then they wended, Their flight straight towards Abel, and descended To where he lay. First seating themselves round As in a circle, they the eroaking sound
Of their hoarse voices raise: but hidden quite The ground is soon, so many there alight.
„Behold the forest-birds" then Adam said,
„Which by the steam entic'd have hither sped.
„Their hunger they would glut upon the boy,
„But though his heart is dead to ev'ry joy,
„That he with life possess'd, yet shall not he,
„The food of" hawks or ravens ever be."
The birds to drive away, he took his spade, Then dug a grave, in which his son he laid;
And said to Eve: „Fulflll'd is now the just
j,Word of the Lord: That we were form d of dust,
„And that to dust we shall return once more,
„When our allotted time of life is o'er."
All that was passing, noted Eve full well, Each grain of earth, into the grave tliat fell, Was follow d by lier tears; each time the sound Of the rude spade she heard, her heart a wound Receiv d. But when was cover'd the new-made grave Herself unto despairing grief she gave;
For that partition here she seem'd to see,
Which, Life and Death between, was now to be.
What wonder was't, that great was her despair?
Ihis was of graves the first the earth should bear.
foince then their number hath e'en countless grownj What countless tears into those graves have flownl
V.
Three days had pass'd. As if she something waits, Each day Eve sees the dawn unclose its gates, Whilst o er the tent the larks rejoicing sing.
It sem'd as if the day must Abel bring;
2"'
But Abel came not witli the passing day. — A week was gone — and yet upon her way, She sees no sign tbat of lier lost one tells;
The same deep silence still around her dwells — And oft to her, all like a dream appear d.
At times, when of his flock the voice she lieaid.
Her niem'ry seem'd of all so lost and gone, That through the fieids she went to meet her son.
And oft when on her way a bush she saw, The branches gently she aside would draw, As if she thought him in their shade to find.
Then suddenly it seem'd as if her mind Regain'd its memory, and then she press'd Her band upon her head, as if for rest.
Then to the grave, with weary steps, she went, And there she sate, whilst o'er the dust she leant:
„Lost!" murmur'd she „forever gone and lost!"
All shuddering her beart responded „Lost!"
But Adam speaketb thus unto his wife;
„Vainly in plaintive grief is spent thy life —
„From tbis sad home of Death we'll go away;
„Be ready to depart at dawn of day.
,;But ere we wander to a foreign land, sign for inem'ry on this grave shall stand, ,,That we may find tlie boy's last resting place,
„If to his grave our steps we e'er retrace."
Then stones from the surrounding fieids lie took, Rolling the heaviest forward with his crook,
And round the grave, with them, he form'd a square, Stone by stone, and layer upon layer;
Lastly a pointed roof the whole did close — And thus of pyramids, the first arose.
„Behold now, seventeen stones are lying here"
He said to Eve, „e'en one for ev'ry year
„Of the boy's life, and they are heaped all
„Upon the grave, we Abel's house will call."
But as with tears Eve counted ev'ry stone.
More strong grew mem'ry, and the days now gone^
Fore ver, of eaeh single vanish'd year, As imag'd by the pillar did appear;
And life and words, for her, the stone e'en has.
This the first trace of Art's existence was —- Twas giv n to comfort here the raourning heart — For into Life, with Death did enter Art.
Next day to wander forth they rose. The tent The camel bore, and onwards with them went AbeFs white flock, which by the dog was driv'n.
All brightly blush'd the dawning day in heav'n.
Towards the East, their wanderings they wend, The river's hilly borders they ascend,
Where Eve oft lingers, as they onward hie, Whilst silently, she with a mournful eye, Follows the river's clear and sunny wave, Flowing down towards the forsaken grave.
A cloudless heaven bright above them smil'd, From the tall palms was heard of birds, the mild Harmonious notes; but both were lost in thought, Silent and sad, for mem'ry ever brought
Before them Cain, a wandering exile;
And when of passed bliss they dreamt awhile, Rose from the grave their AbeFs mournful shade.
A chasm deep had in their life been made;
Death's gloomy niglit before their sight had been, And in an eye all soulless, they had seen
The future lot which was to be their own.
As if by Death's dread burthen weighed down,
They wander'd, and tlieir eyes they turn'd aside, If they but met by chance, as if to bide
The thoughts to which still both return again. — But noon appear'd, and they had pass'd the plain, The mount ascending now they upwards went, And if at times the strength of Eve was spent, Upon the cainel Adam made her ride,
Remaining ever closely at her side,
Whilst on the narrow path with care he lead The beast, where timidly the young lambs tread.
The path rose higher yet, and rocks full steep They wander'd round, and many a chasm deep They pass d, and oft again the valley lay In sight, as backwards still their glances stray.
A wilder aspect yet, the road soon wore, And trees and bushes soon were seen no more, But yet unwearied Adam led the way;
Not ere the blush of eve beneath them lay.
And o'er the rocky mountain's naked top, The moon with pale and feeble beams rose up.
Did he the camel of its burthen ease.
The flock he on the mountain side let graze.
Beneath the rock, his tent he fix'd once more, And plac'd himself witli Eve near to the door, Where, garabolling, the dog beside them stood, And from the hand of Adam took his food.
But on the pale moon Eve now fix'd her gaze,
„Behold" she said, „hovv eold and pale its face,
„Now Abel's house it claddeth with its ray,
„And shineth now above Cain's lonely way."
,,lt unto Death is like" Adam replied!
„And now the Lurd's word hath been verified,
„That word by which he curs'd the earth, with me.
„And its dread import was reveal'd to me
„Upon the road; for truly I have felt,
„That ev'ry tree, on which mine eye hath dwelt,
„Shall rot; each blade of grass upon my way,
„On which my feet have trodden shall decay;
„Each beast, I met, is of another one
„The prey, each bird is only flying on,
„To meet its Death." „Ay" answer'd Eve „and we
„Partakers of the lot of all must be.
„Upon our heads the curse as well did fall —
„And we are now more desolate in all
„Than when we fled from Paradise, our home."
And both are silent, and their glances roam Around them — nought but broken rocks now lie, W i t h d a r k a n d r u g g e d p o i n t s , b e f o r e t l i e i r e j e . The moon's white disk high up above them hung, Shining the lonely mountain path along-,
A solitary bird did in its flight
Above the tent, the timid flock affright;
And from the abyss hoarsely rose the sound Of the deep river, as round the mount it wound.
VI.
Next morning they their wanderings renevv.
Upon their path the misty vapours flew.
To which the night had given birth, but they Were by the breeze soon driv'n quite away.
And Eve and Adam slowly wandered up The narrow path. At noon the mountain's top They gain'd, and standing on the point most high, Adam extended saw beneath his eye,
A landscape wide. And here he seem'd to stand, Lord of the Earth, upon his throne; the laud Of all the world, e'en lying at his feet!
The word seem'd once again his ear to meet, Which bade: „The Earth be subject to your sway The Earth still desert and expectant lay,
As if the futlire race it did await, Which this first couple should originate, With it to struggle long, and then subject.
And Adam here seem'd e'en to detect
Things at an endless distance, seeming near — And boundless now his dwelling doth appear.
But as they turn'd again for the descent, He saw the mount was by a chasm rent;
So narrow here the path that downward winds, That only one a footing on it finds,
Quite near the abyss' side they onward go;
The camel walk'd behind with movenients slow, Then follow'd Eve, and then the flock at last, Driv'n by the dog, until the rock was pass'd.
And many windings hath the mountain way, And oft their wanderings they fain must stay
Awhile to rest. Full many a spring, They saw its tribute to the pure rills bring, That gay and noisy, restlessly ran past^
Till they were gather'd in one stream at last — Its bed it struggling from the mountain won, Then lower down in peace it glided on.
But lower still the wanderers descend,
O'er paths untrodden yet their wanderings wend, But ever still the yawning abyss near.
And now more smooth the rugged rocks appear, Till as the valley they approaeh'd, the last Of all, upon their downward road they pass'd, And trees and bushes they beheld once more.
More easy grew the path they passed o'er, Which seem'd fast as the hours to disappear.
Close to the river's border now they were — Once more they see the palm-tree's lofty crowns|
Once more the song of birds above them sounds, For they are now within the valley's bourns.
One moment more, and then the pathway turns, And suddenly to the East, before them, lies Far distant in the valley — Paradise.
Both trembled as they gaz'd, for to their sight, Once more reveal'd was here the cherub bright, And in his hand, the flaming sword which hid, The gate, thus there all entrance to forbid.
Then Adam spake to Eve: „Not right the way,
„By which the vale to gain I did essay;
„The mountain-path once more we must ascend;
„Once more our steps towards its summit wend.
„For all this ground none but the Lord doth own.
„Our feet we will repose this night alone,
„But at the earliest dawning of the day,
„We must be ready to retrace our way."
He fix'd upon the grassy field his tent,
Which to the flock a place for resting lent. — And whilst in peaceful silence all now lie, The valley's fountain sings their lullaby.
VII.
All suddenly Eve woke, ere yet the dawn Appear'd, and with her sleep alike was gone
• J
The dream delusive, which her soul had led Again to Paradise, ere it had fled.
But all its loveliness her heart still felt,
And on her couch, her thoughts still ou it dwelt.
Alive once more, the past unto her seera'd And what as visions, only late, she dreara'd, Kow to her soul in memory appear'd.
She thought now of the day, when first she heard Of Life's harmonious tones, the earliest sound;
Of the first time, when rising from the ground She felt with wonder, that she was alive;
When she with giddy eyes, to gaze did strive On all around, and Adam first could see, VVho ran to meet his wife rejoicingly;
And when, as in a unity most sweet, Their voices, all in harmony, did meet;
And when she felt, e'en when first spake her tongue, That there is joy, to which uo words belong.
She thought of the first time at eventide, The garden 'round she walk'd by Adam's side;
When they had stood the fountain's water near, Which multiplied them in its mirror clear;
When sitting 'neath the tree, there eyes could roara, Delightedly around their beauteous home ;
And in her mem'ry yet the Voice she heard, Which as the sun in brightness disappear'd, Spake to them; and that awe still seem'd her soul To feel, which then she felt, when Adam told In whisper low: „It was the Lord that spake."
And in her soul, her mem'ry all awake, Could vividly recall, how near the Tree Of Life, she fell upon her bended knee, Fill'd with a joy, which ne'er its equal knew, When by the Lord's hand, bless'd had been the two.
And all becomes so clear to mem'ry's eyes, The days now vanish'd from their graves arise, And from her eyes soft tears of sadness flow, For ev'ry joy now past, she feels as wo.
But in the East it faintly lighter grew, And near unto the door, she softly drew, And gazing forth beneath the dawning sky, The flaming sword once more beheld her eye.
Unto the firmament she turn'd lier gaze, Where of the morning star it met the rays, Which shining steadily, and yet so bright, Towards the East, her soul seem'd to invite.
All filled with emotion, Eve her gaze Eix'd earnestly upon its peacefiil rays;
As if unconsciously, her feet now go, Out from the tent, into the vale below, While on the beauteous star is fix'd her eye.
It seem'd as if for comfort she must fly
To meet it — and her dream reviv'd — the light Of Life's first dawn, seem'd once more to grow bright.
And shed into her heart its peaceful beams.
And yet the star shines steadily, and seems, Onwards upon their path to draw her feet, Which in their wandering become more fleet — As if beneath its ray, rest would be found.
It of a sudden pal'd — She gaz'd around — And brightly blushing was the morning sky;
Then when, from heav'n to earth, she turn'd her eye, The garden and the angel she stood nigh.
Greatly trembling, Eve stopped suddenly;
E'en like a bolt from heav'n tlie well-known siglit Reacli'd to her soul, and fill'd it with affright, An icy slmddering pass'd throughout her frame, But soon again was lighted hope's bright flame.
She gather'd courage, and approaching near The garden, knelt before the cherub there, Who with his brand before the gate must stav, To keep each living creature far away.
„Oh" murmur'd she „Thou summon'd by the Lord,
„When from the garden drove us forth his word,
„Thou who his will, and all his grace must know,
„Some comfort in my misery bestow,
„And my lost home, let once more bless mine eye!"
„His will be done!" the cherub doth reply — And upwards to the sky the sword he turn'd, Which like a torch all bright and blushing burn'd And whilst above her shone the morning rays, On Paradise Eve once more dar'd to gaze.
How sweet beneath those shady walks was playing The sportive breeze, and there her eye still found
Her footsteps, where so oft slie had been straying • And ah! how mem'ry waken'd at the sound Of warbling birds, and how the undecaying
Hues of her youth's bright flowers blush'd around!
How clear beneath the blushing sky, the river!
How sparkling did the pearly dew-drops quiver!
All seem'd beatified — here unimpeded
Her eyes roam'd 'midst the trunks of lofty treesj And from the grass an odour soft proceeded, Which seem'd the heart of evr'y grief to ease.
All new appear'dj and yet her thoughts receded Unto the past, and visions bright as these.
And Eve before the garden stood entranced, By memory, whose sweetness hope enhanced.
But suddenly unto the right she glances — And then a veil seem'd pass before her sight, A mighty tree lifts there aloft its branches — The bird of Death doth only there alight.
3
As if in pride, each mighty branch advances Against the sky, with foliage dark as night,
And bitter fruit — Her heart with grief o'erflowing, Eve turn'd away, the Tree of Knowledge knowing.
Unto the other side she quickly wended, To -comfort gain, she sought of Life the tree;
Its bright and shining foliage all blended With flowers snowy white, she here doth see;
And thence unto the trunk her eyes descended, When suddenly she fell upon her knee — What there her eyes beheld fill'd unto breaking Her heart with joy, of heavenly bliss partaking.
For there he stood e'en greater beauty showing Than e'er, the son for whom she wept as dead, Not faded as in memory, but glowing
Like some sweet hope, at which all sorrow fled.
Bright in the sun, his golden locks were flowing, Ant sweetly smil'd his cheeks so rosy red;
A heavenly peace around his lips was traced, And as in blessedness his eyes he raised.
Aloft, unto the leafy crown he glanced, Raising as if in thanks his youthful hand,
Then spake a Voice, which all the soul entranced, And a bløss'd spirit, he did list'ning stand.
The Voice was silent, — towards him advanced, An angel clad in robes all radiant,
Who, on his hand a gentle touch bestowing, Lead him unto the river, near them flowing.
There, with a brow in heavenly radiance beaming, Eve saw him wander by the angel's side;
Contending tides of joy and yearning streaming, Throughout her heart^ now with each other vied.
Unconsciously her feet mov'd onwards, seeming To seek the garden-gate, and then she cried :
„My son! Mine Abel!" but drew back affrighted, As to the ground, the cherub's sword alighted.
3*
VIII.
But Adam in the tent found Eve no more.
His restless glanes the valley wander'd o'er;
Unto the momit he goes — nor there was she And to the tent again returned he.
Beside the flock he stood — the hours fled, In grief he 'gainst the camel leant his head.
„Now" crieth he „as night to me is day;
,,The woman e'en from me is gone away;
„And I on earth in loneliness must dwell.
Then on the ground his mournful glances fell, And there beheld the dog quite near him lie.
It look'd upon him with inquiring eye, As if the cause of his distress it sought.
„The dog is faithful still," then Adam thoughl,
„And as the others, will he not forsake.
„Then on my path so lonely I will take,
„E'en him, and memory of hopes now fled,
„And he shall share with me my daily bread."
His downcast glance he raises from the ground*, With mournful eyes he looks on all around;
But, suddenly his cheek all brightly glows, And fill'd with joy, to meet liis wife he goes.
She through the valley quickly now drevv near, tier voice was like an angel's in his ear;
Her lips and cheeks in joyous brightness smil'd, And when she rais'd her eye it was so mild!
„Speak! What hath pass'd?" he full of wonder cried.
have seen Abel/' she with joy replied,
,,Where we rejoic'd in life, quite near the Tree!
„He is not lost! In Paradise is he!
„He is not in the grave; the bright beams shone
„Forth from his joyous eyes to meet mine own,
„As his dear name I call'd, the garden near."
And Adam all she told, with many a tear.
Then Adam wept, and said: „The Lord is good!
„The life he gave, forsake he never would-,
„And when we through the gloomy grave have pass'd
„He leads us into Paradise at last.
BY
O E H L E N S C H L Å G E R ,
' ' - i ' . - ' ' " f L
• S f c g .
The two Cliiirch Steeples.
It was the knight^ Sir Asker Ryg, His thoug'hts on war were bent, But first he to the little church, For matin-prayers went.
The wall was of the yellow clay, The roof was thatch'd with straw 5 It was the knight Sir Asker Ryg, 111-pleased this he saw.
It was the knight, Sir Asker Ryg, To stoop was forced there;
The roof it was so very low — So tall the warriors were.
The wall was cover'd, qiiite, with mould A deep crack did it bear;
For time doth use a tooth full sharp, 'Tis little she doth spare.
And ever doth she use her tooth, It seems to be her call, — Freely bloom'd the little flower In chinks of the old wall.
Freely twin'd the verdant hop, Along the church's side
The stork sits proudly in her nest, And looketh far and wide.
„Listen thou dearest Lady Inge!
„Thou art a woman well-bred!
„It ill beseems to pray to God,
„In such a wretched shed.
,,The wind doth pass into the church,
„And in the rain doth pour;
;,Christ is in heaven, and a crib
„He useth now no more."
„Listen thou dearest wife of mine!
„In sooth I to thee say,
„That thou must build another church,
„When I am far avvay.
„Build thou the walls with solid stone,
„The roof with tiles of red;
„Thou must e'en with the greatest speed,
„Pull down that wretched shed.
„And do thou take my scarlet cloak,
„Of velvet it must be;
„And skilfully an altar-cloth
„May thus be made by thee".
The Lady Inge, most dutiful, Her lord thus answer'd she;
„E'en as ye say, my noble lord,
„It surely thus must be.''
„Listen thou dearest. Lady Inge!
„God hath now bless'd thy life;
„If thou a brave son give to me,
„Thou art a precious wife.
„If thou a brave son give to me,
„My life will be made blest;
„If thou dost bear a daughter fair —
„I will her not detest.
„Listen thou dearest Lady Inge!
„Thou art a woman so fair,
„If thou dost give a son, the church,
„May e'en a steeple bear.
thou dost give a little daughter,
„A spire thou only raise; — ,;Proud is the bearing of a knight,
„Humility's woman's praise".
It was the Knight Sir Asker Ryg, He for his steed did call;
And theu unto the battle went, As to a festive hall.
Thirty were his followers, And all with armour bright;
Where'er he in battle came, The foe was put to flight.
And now did follow day on day, Until nine months were gone;
It was the knight Sir Asker Ryg, In ev'ry battle won.
It was the honest, noble brave, He longs for home again; — The helmets were of burnish'd gold, And haudsome was his train.
When he through the forest pass'd.
Thirty did with him ride ;
When he came to FinnesloevHlle, Alone, his steed he plied.
The morning glows, and yet the grass, Is wet with nightly dews ;
It was the knight Sir Asker Ryg, Full well his spur did use.
The golden spurs the knight now struck, Into the good steed's side;
And I in truth may even say.
His thoughts roam'd far and wide.
Beyond that field of yellow wheat, There stands a hillock green;
Behind it lieth Finnesloevlille A handsorae town I ween.
It was the knight Sir Asker Ryg, His heart arose in prayer;
God grant now that the church I see, May even a steeple bear!
It was the knight Sir Asker Ryg, Full knowingly smil'd he — When he to the hillock came, Two steeples did he see!
Above the church they proudly rose, Up in the sky so blue;
The lark sang in the field of wheat;
The sun shone on the view.
Thanks to the stately Lady Inge!
An honest wife was she;
Two sons slie to her husband gave, That they his joy might be.
\
The lirst-born of Sir Asker's sons, They call'd him Esbern Snarej He was as strong as the wild boar, More nimble than a hare.
The second, Axel call'd, became A bishop pious, brave;
As popes in Rome their staves did use, He us'd his Danish glave.
One of the sleeples fallen is, Blooms on it the wild flower;
Axel and Esbern, on Denmark's house, In greatness yet do tower.
The moss now covers tlie old wall As on the eartli it lies 5
Axel and Esbern, in the North, So highly yet we prize.
Full soon the other steeple will, E'en as the first, break down;
Axel and Esbern Snare live, In glorious renown.
Christ bless the noble dame! she now, Before the altar lies;
She hath two mighty steeples set, On Denmark's house to rise.
Hail the victorious knight, that home Returns, and findeth there,
Within the cradle twins, and sons, Like Axel and Esbern Snare.
Oehlenschliiger,
4
The following lines are found in an epic poem called
„King Helge." — King Frode has killed his brother, the King of Denmark, and has usurped the crown. He has a feast at Christmas tide, at which the Lady Signe, daughter to the murdered king, is obliged to appear with her husband.
Her little brothers, Helge and Hroar, who live disguised as peasant-boys on her property, follow the Earl and his lady to the festival, intent on revenge upon Frode. On the way their sister recognises them. — In the midst of the festival they set fire to tlie royal house.
King Frode has a feast at Christmas-tide;
Deck'd with snow, was the forest wide.
Christmas-tide;
Deck'd with snow was the forest wide, He notice doth to the brave Earls send, They for the feast, to his house must wend.
To the brave Earls send,
They for the feast, to his house must wend.
With bolsters he covers the benches all, And claddeth with moss the wo.oden wall.
Benches all,
And claddeth with moss the wooden wall.
On the floor is set the barrel of ale-, Sure the carousal will never fail!
Barrel of all,
Sure the carousal will never fail!
Earl Sevar, and his Lady fair,
For the Christmas festival must be there.
Lady fair,
For the Christmas festival must be there.
A scarlet cloak doth the lady wear;
The sledge is deck'd with the skin of a bear.
4'
The lady wear-,
The sledge is deck'd with the skin of a bear.
The little boys, at the wicker gate, So cold in their peastint garb, do wait,
Wicker gate,
So cold in their peasant garb, do wait.
„And if we but on the foal might ride,
We should taste the ale of this Christraas-tide!"
„On the foal might ride,
„We should taste the ale of this Christmas-tide."
They led the foal from the stable door;
,,Our festive garb is but very poor."
Stable door;
„Our festive garb is but very poor "
They sprang on the foal, as if they knew not how, And turn their backs on each other now.
Knew not liow,
And turn their backs on each other now.
Now unto the royal hall ride they;
And liold of the tail and mane they lay.
Hall ride they;
And hold of the tail and mane they lay.
To forget the cold they their voices swell^
In song; the cap of young Hroar fell.
Voices swell
In song. The cap of young Hroar fell.
Lady Signe could not now hide a tear,
Wlien the long and yellow locks did appear. *)
Hide a tear,
When the long and yellow locks did appear.
She kneAv 'twas Hroar. So long was the hair!
"T was only the garb of a slave he did wear.
*) In the old times, Bondsmen in Denmark were not permittted to have long hair.
Long was the hair!
'T was only the garb of a slave he did wear.
„What moisteiis thine eyes now, my wife so fair?"
„Those easterly winds I could never bear!"
„Wife so fair?"
„Those easterly winds I could never bear!"
„To your home little boys, return now ye!
„Let not your childhood forgotten be."
„Return now ye!
„Let not your childhood forgotten be!"
„Oh fear not thou, our Lady fair!
„In the Christmas hall, we the torches bear!
„Lady fair!
„In the Christmas hall we the torches bear!
„Their light on the land so bright shall be,
„They shall be seen twenty miles ofF at sea.
„So bright shall be,
„They shall be seen twenty miles off at sea.
„Frode a price of blood pay we would,
„Because he hath slain our father good!"
Oehlenschluger,
Sir Atige and Lady Else.
(Old Ballad).
It was the knight Sir Aage, Across the land rode he;
Pledged the Lady Else, A lovely maid was she;
Pledged the Lady Else, With a ring of yellow gold;
The month that foliow'd after, He in his grave was cold.
It was the Lady Else, Her grief luay not be told:
This heard the knight Sir Aage, Under the black mould.
Up rose the knight Sir Aage, His coffin on his back, He liasten'd to her bower, Aud trouble did not lack.
He knock'd at the door with his coffin, Because he h.id no skin.
„Listen thou Lady Else!
„Corae, let thy lover in."
Answer'd the Lady Else,
„I will not ope my door,
„Before thou nainest the Saviour
„E'en as thon couldst before."
„Whenever thon art joyful,
„And easy in thy mind,
„The dark sides of my coffin,
„With roses red are lin'd.
„Whenever thou art mournful
„And gloomy in thy mind,
„The dark sides of my coffin
„With clots of blood are lin'd.
.,To the grave I must go down,
„The red cock now doth crow;
„M must go, with all the dead
„Down to the graves below.
„Look thou unto the heavens,
„And on each little star,
„Thou wilt perceive, that stealthily,
„The night is now gone far."
Up look'd the Lady Else.
Up to the stars so small;
The Dead now sank into his grave, She saw him not at all.
Home went the Lady Else, Her grief may not be told, The month that follow'd after, She in her grave was cold.
