The Soul Of A Century/Christmas Day
CHRISTMAS DAY
Part 1
’Tis dark as a grave . . . A wintery gale moans;
From the hearth glowing warmth slowly spreads . . .
The fire-place roars . . . grandmother nods and drones
While the girls spin flax into threads.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel,
The end of Advent soon shall peal
And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
To spin is a joyous task for a girl
During the long wintery eves,
That not in vain her spinning-wheels whirl
The maiden firmly believes.
A day will come when someone shall say
To the busy maid: “Come rejoice!
You, be my loving bride today,
Let me, be the man of your choice.
I will be yours and you will be mine,
Give me your hand our love to betroth.”
And the shy young maid who spun yarn so fine,
Is now sewing a gown from the cloth.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel,
The end of Advent soon shall peal
And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
Part II.
Hail you wondrous Christmas Eve,
You holiday of myth,
What varied gifts you bring each one
To recollect you with?
To the master, Christmas bread,
Fodder to his cattle,
To the rooster, garlic spread,
Peas to hens which prattle.
To the fruit-trees in the grove
Bones from the repast,
Gold reflections on the wall
To him who keeps the fast.
***
Oh, I am a youthful maid
With heart as yet untaken,
In my restless, care-free mind
Other thoughts awaken.
Yonder, where the forest ends
And the sluice-gate forms a gap,
Venerable willows stand
Each crowned with a snowy cap.
One of these, a gnarled old tree
Wearily is nodding
Downward, where beneath the ice
The cold blue lake is plodding.
There, they say, when midnight comes
And the moon shines bright above,
Within the waters’ depth appears
A maiden’s future love.
***
Midnight does not frighten me,
I scoff at superstition,
With an axe I’ll chop the ice
And fulfill my mission.
Deep into the icy waves
I’ll gaze with hopeful eyes,
My destined lover to behold
Where his image mirrored lies.
Part III.
Midnight set in . . . The Heavens are gay
With the glory of stars brightly strewn,
Like sheep straggling home at the close of a day,
Their shepherd, the glistening moon.
Midnight set in . . . a night holy, supreme,
Christmas night peaceful and still;
Across the white snow fresh footprints gleam,
Marking a trail toward the lake ’neath the hill.
One girl is kneeling where the ice shows a break,
Impatient, the other stands by.
“Hannah dear, Hannah, for our friendship’s sake
Tell me what meets your eye.”
“I see a cottage, as yet hazy and far,
It looks like my Václav’s home . . .
The vision grows brighter . . . the door stands ajar,
Now I see a man’s shadowy form.
He is wearing a coat of dark green cloth,
His hat’s to one side . . . Now I see,
On the hat are the flowers I myself had bought
Good God! It is Václav! . . It’s he!
She leaps to her feet, heart wildly athrill,
The waiting girl kneels in her place.
Good luck dear Marie! Tell me, if you will,
What future you shall face.”
“I see something there . . . so faint in the haze.
A flickering ray that streams
Out of the mist . . . Red lights are ablaze . . .
I have entered a church, it seems.
All is somber and black, pierced with flashes of white,
It dawns upon me . . . It is clear!
The white are the maids . . . and the vapory light . . .
My God! A cross and a bier.”
Part V.
Winter set in . . . A wintery gale moans;
From the hearth glowing warmth slowly spreads . . .
The fireplace roars . . . grandmother nods and drones
Once again girls spin flax into threads.
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel,
The end of Advent soon shall peal
And closer, close comes Christmas Day.
Hail you wondrous Christmas Eve,
You night of magic art,
Whenever I think of you
Something stabs me through the heart.
Like today it was we sat
A year ago together,
And before a year passed by
Two are gone forever.
One with a shawl about her head,
Her infant’s clothes is heaping.
O’er the other, for three long months
The Earth and the Skies are weeping,
Yonder where Marie is sleeping.
Like today it was we sat
As now and yesterday,
And before a year goes by
Whither shall we stray?
Hum and whirl my spinning wheel,
All in this world has a short appeal,
And human life is but a Dream.
’Tis better to dream in hopes that are vain,
In sheerest darkness to grope about,
Than to have our future revealed starkly plain
And to know our unchangeable lot.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
|---|---|
| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) between 1929 and 1977 (inclusive) without a copyright notice. The longest-living author of this work died in 1987, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 36 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
