Sweden's Laureate: Selected Poems of Verner von Heidenstam/A People

by Carl Gustaf Verner von Heidenstam

A PEOPLE.

I. The People. (Cf. Nahum III, 18.) The prophet Nahum speaketh thusTo Nineveh, to Assyria's king:"The pilots of thy people slumber,And each one of thy chieftains, Prince,Dwelleth apart and doeth naught;Thy scattered people roam the mountains,For no voice ever summoneth them."

I tremble at the word: a people!So full of song, so full of wailing,Of thunderbolts and trump o' doom.I shrink together at the wordAs at a heaven-towering giant,Whose foot is crunching in my ribsAs I might crunch a mussel-shell.A people! Toward the sky it flames.In a dark valley waggons rattle,And savage men in wild-beast skins,With naked children, wasted women,Plod ever forward, ever forward,Forgetful of the roads they followedAnd no more knowing whence they came.The children ask, but no one answers. There rises from the throng of elders,With ice-gray beard and shaggy mantle,One-eyed, a raven on his shoulder,And sword unsheathed, a wonder-man.He motions to the bards—and sadlyThey sing of their forgotten birthplace,When midnight stareth on the tents.He speaks—around the altar-stoneThat, blood-smeared, stands beneath the oak-treeHe sets new images of godsAnd stands himself as god among them.Then groweth leaf-o'ershadowed Birka,^[1]Where amid oar-song viking vesselsCut glad the waves. On yon high prowStands the dread fifty-winter sea-kingWith captured bride and hails his home.Soon speech as soft as festal raimentIs woven, timed to gentler breathing.Then holy bells ring, centuries hurryLike shadow of clouds across the lands.

Now all grows still, as mournful-stillAs when a limpid St. John's EveSets heavenly glint on sound and bay;But in the heart's deep secrecyDwells dread, when anxious lips are silent.My people, though your hand be cold, The frost that chills is of the dawn.Your pilots slumber, O my people,And each one of your chieftains, too,Dwelleth apart and doeth naught.

II. Sweden. Oh Sweden, Sweden, Sweden, native land,The home and haven of our longing!The cow-bells ring where armies used to stand,Whose deeds are story, but with hand in handTo swear the ancient troth again thy sons are thronging.

Fall, winter snow! And sigh, thou wood's deep breast!Burn, all ye stars, from summer heavens peeping!Sweden, mother, be our strife, our rest,Thou land wherein our sons shall build their nest,Beneath whose church-yard stones our noble sires are sleeping.

III. Fellow-Citizens. As sure as we have a fatherlandWe are heirs to it one with another,By common right in an equal band,The rich and his needy brother. Let each have his voice as we did of oldWhen a shield was the freeman's measure,And not all be reckoned like sacks of goldBy a merchant counting his treasure.

We fought for our homes together whenOur coast by the foe was blighted.It was not alone the gentlemenDrew sword when the beacons were lighted.Not only the gentlemen sank to earthBut also the faithful yoemen;'Tis a blot on our flag that we reckon worthBy wealth, and poor men are no men.

'Tis a shame to do as we oft have done,—Give strangers the highest places,But beat our own doors with many a stoneAnd publish our own disgraces.We are weary of bleeding by our own knife,When the heart from the head we sever;We would be as one folk with a single life,Which we are and would be forever.

V. Soldiers' Song. Beat the drums there, boys! Go ahead, make way!Hurrah for country and king!Hurrah for the Riksdag, where old men stay,Pound the gavel and scratch at their heads all day, And cough and blink at the ceiling so grayEre they let the gold-pieces ring!

But when it's time that for people and kingOur blood on the snow shall run,They don't tie a man with a money-bag string,For then, young or old, the man 's the thing.All right, then, comrades. Strike up and sing!We'll be as one people, as one.

We'll be as an eagle, faithful and dumbMid petty clamor and clangor.When the thunder rolls at the beat of the drum,Then between the gray crags our banner shall come.We'll be heard when we swoop from our rocky homeAnd yell with the might of anger.

VI. Invocation and Promise. If the neighbor-lands three should cry: "ForgetYour greatness of bygone ages!"I'd answer: "Arise, O North, who yetMay'st be what my dream presages!"The vision of greatness may bring againNew deeds like those of our betters.Come, open the graves—nay, give us menFor Science and Art and Letters!

Aye, close to a cliff let our people standWhere a fool his poor neck may shatter.There are other things, men, to hold in your handThan a brim-full Egyptian platter.It were better the plate should be split in twoThan that hearts should rot when still living.That no race may be more great than you,—That 's the goal, why count we the striving?

It were better to feel the avenger's mightThan that years unto naught should have hasted,It were better our people should perish quiteAnd our fields and cities be wasted.It is braver to take the dice's hapThan to mope till our fire is expended;It is finer to hear the bow-string snapThan never the bow to have bended.

I wake in the night, but I hear no soundSave the waters seething and churning.Like a soldier of Judah, prone on the ground,I could pray with passionate yearning.I ask not years when the sun shines bright,Nor for golden crops I importune.Kind Fate, let the blazing thunderbolt smiteMy people with years of misfortune!

Yea, smite us and lash us but into one,And the bluest of springs will follow.Ye smile, my folk, but with face as of stone, Ye sing, but your joy is hollow.Ye rather would dance in silk, forsooth,Than solve your own riddle truly,Ye might awake to the deeds of your youthIn the night when ye sorrow newly.

Then on, shy daughter, in hardship bred,Look up and let sloth forsake thee!We love thee so that, if thou wert dead,Our love could once more awake thee.Though the bed be hard, though the midnight lowers,We'll be true while the tempest rages,Thou people, thou land, thou speech that is ours,Thou voice of our souls to the ages!

1. Birka, or Birch Island, was a port of the Vikings near to where Stockholm now stands.