BRAGUR’S SONG IN HONOUR OF GEFION.
When the Asar’s numerous band
From the East to Gauthiod’s strand
Rode, on coursers arm’d in mail,
Sword in hand, o’er mountain, vale,
Forest, lake, their march pursuing,
The proud Jotun race subduing;
Gefion, as a bulrush strait,
Hied one summer evening late
To where Svea’s fountain flows,
Where the Jetter’s dwelling rose
Built of wood; where Gyllfe’s hand
Levied tribute from the land,
Far as the wave, whose stormy spray
Scoops through the hills a double bay.
There while the Scald’s poetic fire
To strains harmonious waked the lyre,
The mighty chief sat in his hall,
Surrounded by his champions all.
All lauded the heroic lay,
And Gefion, who pass’d that way,
Lured by the harp’s melodious sound,
With sensibility profound
Listening to each ecstatic note,
Remain’d fast rooted to the spot.
The sons of Gyllfe much incline
To bend the knee at beauty’s shrine:
No sooner they the Disa view’d,
As listening at the gate she stood,
They sprang up from their bench; with prayer
They earnestly besieged the fair
To enter in the festive hall,
Where she took seat, admired by all.
Though melancholy was her mien,
She shed new lustre on the scene:
Her eyes’ bewitching glance could melt
Each warrior’s heart beneath his belt,
Hearts, which were slow to move before,
Save when the clarion blew for war.
And now the Scald had ceased his lay;
The harp’s last tone had died away:
Gefion arose, her bosom swelling
With conscious dignity, repelling
All hope her favours to obtain:
As when on silv’ry lake the swan
Doth proud its swelling neck deploy,
The water feels a thrilling joy
The bosom downy-white to lave,
Which with indifference ploughs the wave.
Thus Gyllfe’s warriors Gefion bright
Behold with wonder and delight,
And striking on their shields, proclaim
Loud homage to her spotless name;
But with a cold disdain the maid
Their homage and their vows repaid.
“Farewell, ye champions mountain-born!
Lo! to my lips I raise the horn,
And with the pledge of hydromel
I bid ye all a long farewell!
Now to the grove to gather flowers,
Late moisten’d by benignant showers,
My course I bend, while through the vale
Yet sounds the plaint of nightingale:
And when to-morrow’s moon shall roll
In silv’ry track athwart the pole,
The daughter of the East again
Shall join her much-loved sisters’ train.”
“Nay! Gefion! stay with us! oh stay!
And when the summer’s lengthen’d ray
Tinges our hills, thine be the toil
To plant fresh flowers on Svithiod’s soil.
But if from hence, O goddess bright!
Thou art resolv’d to wing thy flight,
No more will joy or pleasure deign
To smile on Svea’s drear domain.”
“Well then! your zeal for Gefion prove!
And with her on it, drag this grove
Into the Ocean! I the land
Will deck with flowers; but it must stand
An island green ’midst billows blue:
If not--receive my last adieu!
Gefion ye ne’er shall see again,
O Jetter! in your proud domain.”
“Let Gefion swear with us to stay,
We’ll all submit to Gefion’s sway:
Let graceful Gefion deign to smile,
We’ll straight her fondest wish fulfill.
Choose the best portion of the land
Thyself! forthwith the Jetter band,
Harness’d like Ægir’s coursers brave,
Shall drag it forth into the wave:
There as an island shall it stand,
O goddess fair! at thy command!”
The Disa now her skill display’d:
A plough with precious stones inlaid
She took, and plough’d the grove around,
With all its trees, a trench profound.
This done, she southward placed a rock
The billows’ utmost rage to mock:
Through the deep trench in rush’d the main,
And quicksands follow’d in its train.
With joy and pride her bosom swell’d,
When she her fav’rite grove beheld
Wash’d by the ocean’s azure spray:
Next towards the north she form’d a bay,
Protection ample to afford
To ships; and call’d it Issefiord.
To Gefion’s car the champions bright
Yoked themselves, changed to oxen white:
The grove far from the hills they drew,
And fixed it midst the ocean blue.
There as an island stands apart
The continent’s most fruitful part!
And since the grove the billows lave,
Sealund’s[75] the name the Disa gave:
And future ages all proclaim,
The island well deserves the name;
Since there the finest grove they see
Gracefully married to the sea.
Thus Sealund stands! thus took its birth
The brightest ornament of earth!
A south, with teeming verdure graced,
I’ th’ bosom of the north enchased!
Now through the vacant space doth flow
The wave, in which the heavenly bow
Reflects itself: now vessels sail,
Where once the car roll’d through the vale;
And fishes swim, where once the trees
Responded to the evening breeze.
Then join your voice to Bragur’s lays!
He strikes the harp in Gefion’s praise!
Hail, Gefion! glorious Disa, hail!
Ne’er shall the poet’s ardour fail
To render thee all homage due;
Thy power triumphant still we view;
For Sealund with each vale and hill
By Oresund doth flourish still.[76]