'Twas in Fahlun's deep mines a corse was found,
As the dark miners urged their toilsome way,
Preserv'd from all decay; the golden locks
Curl'd down in rich luxuriance o'er a face
Pale as a statue's—cold and colourless,
But perfect every feature.—No one knew
What youth it was. The dress was not the same
As worn by miners, but of antique shape,
Such as their fathers', and they deemed it was
Some stranger who had curiously explored
The depths of Fahlun, and the falling rock
Had closed him from the face of day for ever.
Thrice fearful grave! They took the body up
And bore it to the open air, and crowds
Soon gathered round to look on the fair face
And graceful form, yet still not one could tell
Aught of its history. But at length there came
An aged woman; - - - down beside the youth
Trembling she knelt, and with her withered hands
Parted from off his face the thick bright hair—
She sank upon his bosom, one wild shriek
Rang with his name,—My love, my lost Olave!
L. E. L.
Note: From The New Monthly, 1824 Volume II (Vol.11) page 55, a note to the poem ‘The Swedish Miner’, unsigned
• The body of a young Swedish miner was lately discovered in one of the mines of Dalecarlia, fresh and in a state of perfect preservation, from the action of the mineral waters in which it had been immersed. No one could recognize the body save an old woman, who knew it to be that of her lover:—he had perished fifty years before!
