[Concluded.]
Translated by L. A. SHERMAN, PH.D.
* * * * *
From their celestial flight restored
Spake Axel first: “Now by my sword,
By Northland’s honor, by each star,
Which like a bride-maid standing far
Looks down on us with beams benign,—
By earth and heaven, thou art mine!
Oh! it were blessed, far from strife
In some sweet vale where peace has made
Her home beneath the mountain’s shade,
To live with thee in blended life.
Alas! my oath, my oath prevents.
With hateful look, as here we stand,
It speechless thrusts its icy hand
Between our hearts, and bids me hence.
But fear not; I shall be released
With honor from my stringent oath,
And when next May shall bid us both
To her luxuriant, floral feast,
Then shall I surely come again,
And claim thee as my bride, my wife.
Farewell, thou jewel of my life,
Farewell, a long farewell till then!”
And with the word he turned away.
He took his sword, and king’s commands,
And through Czar Peter’s hundred lands
Resumed his swift and dangerous way,
Oft hid in woods the whole day through,
And guided in his paths by night
From heaven’s peerless signal light,—
The star of Northland, steadfast, true,
Or by those stars in heaven’s crown,
Which know no hour of going down,
The Wain of Charles, with argent beam,
And wheel-spikes forged of brightest gold.
And thus he rode through risks extreme,
And hordes of foemen manifold,
To Mälars palace, where amid
The council’s wonderment he told
How had escaped their sovereign bold,
And gave the letter as he bid.
But meanwhile in her vacant halls
Maria murmured Axel’s name,
In woods her sighs repeat the same,
And vales and hills send back her calls.
“What oath, pray, was it so austere?
Some maid in that bleak land so dear,
An older flame? or is there more
Than one? My heart spurns three or four!
Thou Northern maid in snow attire,
One of us twain must to the grave!
Thou knowest naught of Southern fire.
Beyond thy farthest frozen wave,
Beyond thy snow-peaks burdened high,
I’ll search thee out, for thou must die!
Yet—went not Axel when a boy
From home? Nor has he since that day
Returned, and far from all annoy
Of camps and strife love flees away.
Yes, only truth and honor dwell
On such a brow, and arched so well.
His steadfast gaze have I looked through,
Down to the bottom of his heart,
As deep the searching sunbeams dart
Through spring-depths, clear and silver-blue.
Why fleest thou then? What craved the test
Of oaths? Was it to crush this breast?
What—but in space my protest dies,—
A widow faint with bitter sighs,
A dove which roams with weary cry
Through earth and heaven without reply.
Yes, forests sigh and torrents fall
Between us, he hears not my call.
What! if I followed him?—But no!
It were not meet for woman so.
A _woman_,—who will know? If I
But wear a sword, the man is made.
With danger I have often played,
And staked life when I threw the die.
From horseback I was never thrown,
Nor ever carbine failed me aught.
Yes, God inspired in me the thought.
Now Axel thou art all my own!
I seek thee in thy land of birth,
I search for thee throughout the earth,
From dale to dale, from strand to strand,
And all oaths from thy lips I wring.
Now take me, War, upon thy wing,
And set me down in Axel’s land!”
So said so done. Resolve and deed
Are one with woman, and with speed
She is disguised. A casque compressed
And hid her dark abundant hair,
A doublet stayed her swelling breast,
Her powder-sack she filled with care,
And from her fair white shoulder slung
Death’s telescope, her carabine.
Down from a belt of Greek design
A crooked sabre gleaming hung,
And either lip and cheek she smeared
With black,—the hint of future beard.
* * * * *
She seemed, thus girt with belt and sword
Like Love in hero’s garb concealed,
Or Klinias’ son’s fair form restored,
Once painted on the gleaming shield.
“Farewell, my father’s home, farewell!
I shall return with love and dwell
Again within thy walls some day.
I can not wait, I must away.
Hide me beneath thy veil, O Night,
And give my Axel to my sight.”
Already lay upon the strands
Of slumbering Sweden’s vanquished lands
Czar Peter’s city, which has since
Held crowns in pledge from many a prince.
Then was it paltry. On its bay
It like a new-born dragon lay.
Yet nature is betrayed in young
That coils itself on heated sands,
Already venom in its glands,
And hisses on its cloven tongue.
A fleet to ravage Svea’s[F] shores
Was lading there with murderous stores,
And thitherward Maria pressed,
And where the ships received their hoard
Traced out her way, and made request
That she might have a place on board.
An officer who walked the quay,
And saw, surprised, addressed her then:
“You seem more dangerous, Sir youth,
To Northern maids than Northern men.
However it shall go with thee,
They can not tweak thy beard, forsooth!
Yet thou canst learn of them the whole
Of war: it is for death or life;
But either issue of the strife
God and Saint Nicholas control.”
The sails are set, the keel cuts through
The foam, and hastens toward the west,
And Svea’s cliffs soon rise to view
In sunset flames: they stand at rest
Amid the swirl of tide and wave,
The giant landmarks nature gave
Of old to warn of dangerous strands.
They landed on the famous sands
Which skirt the base of Sota’s reef,
Where parted Hjalmar[G] from the side
Of Ingeborg,[G] his faithful bride,
Where afterward she died of grief,
When Odin called the youth above
To Valhall’s courts, to do his will;
And there her ghost sits lingering still
Upon the cliff and mourns her love.
* * * * *
But towns are blazing one by one,
And children shriek and women fly;
Too well they know the war begun,
And bells are ringing far and nigh
Both night and day the call to arms.
Alas! the dead hear no alarms.
Woe! wretched land! what arm can save?
Thy valiant men are in their grave.
But still the peril of the land
Joins boys and old men in a band
With swords which smote on German mail,
And saw Gustavus’s hosts prevail,
And halberds wielded with despatch
In Denmark, worn with victory,
And curious shapes of musketry
With rusted locks, and kindled match.
Such was the kingdom’s sole defence,
A paltry troop, and weaponed ill;
Without surprise or doubt it still
Went forth to drive the foemen thence.
These did not battle hand to hand,
But spread their cloud across the land,
And lightened from the mountain’s crown
Where boldest hearts could not aspire,
And unrevenged death thundered down
On scanty ranks with ceaseless fire.
But then, as cometh angry Thor
With hammer, girt with manhood’s belt,
So Axel came and joined the war,
Where flight prevailed and horror dwelt,—
An angel sent in time of need.
His arm is death, his glance a frown;
He posts his men, spurs up and down
The lines upon his foam-white steed.
“Stand, Swedes, close up the ranks again!
I have been sent by Carl to bring
His greeting home to all his men.
Our watchword, God, and Carl our king!”
God and King Charles sound through the field.
They follow where he leads the way,
And heights from which the death-shots play
Are stormed, and in a moment yield.
And so was stopped the throat of hell,
And fields were sown with weapons well,
And blindly raged the sword throughout
The terrible and bloody rout,
Till awe-struck swept the robber-band,
With quick-snatched cables from the strand.
Now like a sated beast of prey
Lay Slaughter sleeping on the field.
From heaven’s tent the moon revealed
The awful scene with pitying ray.
Along the shore, with sighs, alone,
Went Axel where the dead were strewn.
They lay by twos, men face to face:
How fierce the grasp of their embrace!
A faithful clasp wouldst thou behold?
Think not of lovers who enfold
Each other, smiling tenderly;
Go to the battlefield and see
How hate, inflamed by death’s fierce smart,
Can press its foeman to its heart!
Ah! charms of love and happiness
Are fleeting as the zephyr’s breath,
But hate, and sorrow, and distress
Are faithful even unto death.
Thus musing, in the darkness nigh
He heard the words of weak complaint:
“O Axel, water! I am faint,—
A last farewell before I die!”
He started at the well known sounds,
And looking on the rocks espied
A youth unknown who leaned beside
The sharp cliff, pale and weak with wounds.
The moon broke through the cloud and shone
Upon the face, and with a groan
Of trembling horror bitterly
He shrieked, “O Jesus, it is she!”
Yes, it _was_ she. Despite constraint
Of pain she spoke in accents faint:
“Adieu, O Axel; we must part,
For death stands knocking at my heart.
Ask not why we meet here to-day.
Naught but my love brings me away.
Oh! when the endless shadows close
And man stands by death’s open door,
How changed from what it was before
Seems life with all its paltry woes;
And nothing but a love like ours
Shall rise with him to heaven’s powers.
I craved to know thy oath austere,
And that it was which brought me here.
Now I shall search it out on high
Among the stars of purest ray
Where it is writ, and shall espy
Thine innocence as bright as they.
I know I acted foolishly,
I know thou sorely mournest me.
Forgive me, for my love and trust,
Each tear let fall upon my dust!
I had not brother, sire or mother;
_Thou_ wast my mother, father, brother,—
Thou wast my all! O Axel, swear
In death that I am dear to thee!
Thou sayst it,—thou contentest me.
The sweetest of its sagas rare
Hath life told me. Shall we not part,
Thy maiden folded to thy heart?
And shall not here her dust be blended
With this dear soil thou hast defended?
See, Axel, yonder cloud shut in
The moon. When it shines out again,
I shall be dead. My spirit then
Shall on far-distant shores begin
To pray all good, and with all eyes
Of heaven, watch thee from the skies.
Set on my grave a Southern rose,
And when in snows its bloom shall fade,
Child of the sun, think of thy maid
Who slumbers under Northern snows.
Her morning years were quickly passed,—
See, Axel, now the cloud moves fast—
Farewell,—farewell!”—She sank, and sighed
And pressed her lover’s hand, and died.
Then forth from realms of nether air
Not death, but death’s young brother rose,—
Pale, fierce insanity, which goes
With poppy wreaths in streaming hair,
And glares up sometimes at the sky,
And sometimes downward at the earth,
Distorts its ashen lips in mirth,
And weeps from its low-burning eye.
It comes and touches Axel’s brain,
And ever afterwards his feet
Pace round the grave with restless beat,
As once in saga-days the slain
Were wont to flit, and linger nigh
Where some deep-buried treasure lay,
And all the shore heard night and day
His pitiful, dejected cry:—
“Be still, ye billows, cease your roar;
Ye must not smite so on the shore.
What do ye but disturb my dreams?
I can not love your foamy streams
That dance blood-mixed along the sands,
For ye bring death to these my strands.
Here lately lay a youth and bled,
And roses on his grave I spread,
For he was like—I know well whom;—
I bear _her_ home in spring’s first bloom.
They tell me that earth lulls my love
To slumber, that grass grows above
Her faithful breast: they are deceived—
She sat upon the rock and grieved,
Pale was she as one painteth death,—
But that came of the moon’s faint light;
And cold her lips and cheek that night—
That came but of the north wind’s breath.
I bade my own beloved stay,
Her fingers stroked my locks away:
My brain was dark and heavy then,
But soon methought it light again.
Far off in yonder east there shine
The vanished days, alas! how few,
Those days as fair as heaven’s blue
When Axel lived the life divine.
A castle stood in groves of green,
And in that castle dwelt a queen.
I lay in forests murdered there;
She brought my life back in a kiss,
And from her heart she gave me bliss,—
Her heart of love, so warm and rare.
Now lies it frozen in her breast,
Her withering breast, and all is past!—
Ye stars of yonder spaces vast,
Take off from me your burning eyes!
A morning star as bright as ye,
I saw sink in a bloody sea.
It smells of blood yet by the strand
And blood there is upon my hand.”
Such was his plaint on Sota’s shore,
Where yet he stands at break of day,
At night-fall will not go away,
But lingers weeping as before.
One morning saw him lifeless there,
His hands clasped upward as in prayer,
While on his cheeks the last tears lie,
Half stiffened in the morning’s chill;
But on the grave is fastened still
The viewless luster of his eye.
* * * * *
Such was the saga that I heard;
How deep my tender heart was stirred.
Full thirty years have passed away,
Yet lives it in my soul to-day.
For with lines definite and sharp
Stand childhood’s fancies graven well
In hearts of skalds, where small they dwell,
As Aslög[H] in King Heimer’s harp,
Till summoned they come forth as she,
Betraying god-like pedigree
In dazzling raiment, gestures high,
And golden hair, and kingly eye.
Ah! full with golden lyres is hung
The heaven of our childhood’s hours,
And all that skalds may since have sung,
As great as heroes, small as flowers,
Already in a fairer guise
Has passed before our youthful eyes.
Yet when melodiously ring
The far-piped notes of quails in spring,
When leaves the moon its eastern wave,
A ghost uprising from the grave,
And paints so mournfully and still
The hue of death on dale and hill,
Then sounds of sighs invade mine ear,
Then seems as if I still could hear
The ancient tale, and told so wide,
Of Axel and his Russian bride.
[To be continued.]