TRANSLATIONS FROM THE SWEDISH.
Reading edition
FRITHIOF’S HOMESTEAD.
Three miles extended around the fields of the homestead; on three sides Valleys, and mountains, and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean. Birch-woods crowned the summits, but over the down-sloping hillsides Flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye-field. Lakes, full many in number, their mirror held up for the mountains, Held for the forests up, in whose depths the high-antlered reindeer Had their kingly walk, and drank of a hundred brooklets. But in the valleys, full widely around, there fed on the greensward Herds with sleek, shining sides, and udders that longed for the milk-pail; ’Mid these were scattered, now here and now there, a vast countless number Of white-wooled sheep, as thou seest the white-looking stray clouds, Flock-wise, spread o’er the heavenly vault, when it bloweth in springtime. Twice twelve swift-footed coursers, mettlesome, fast-fettered storm-winds, Stamping stood in the line of stalls, all champing their fodder, Knotted with red their manes, and their hoofs all whitened with steel shoes. The banquet-hall, a house by itself, was timbered of hard fir. Not five hundred men (at ten times twelve to the hundred) Filled up the roomy hall, when assembled for drinking at Yule-tide. Thorough the hall, as long as it was, went a table of holm-oak, Polished and white, as of steel; the columns twain of the high-seat Stood at the end thereof, two gods carved out of an elm-tree; Odin with lordly look, and Frey with the sun on his frontlet. Lately between the two, on a bear-skin (the skin it was coal-black, Scarlet-red was the throat, but the paws were shodden with silver), Thorsten sat with his friends, Hospitality sitting with Gladness. Oft, when the moon among the night-clouds flew, related the old man Wonders from far-distant lands he had seen, and cruises of Vikings Far on the Baltic and Sea of the West, and the North Sea. Hush sat the listening bench, and their glances hung on the gray-beard’s Lips, as a bee on the rose; but the Skald was thinking of Bragé, Where, with silver beard, and runes on his tongue, he is seated Under the leafy beech, and tells a tradition by Mimer’s Ever-murmuring wave, himself a living tradition. Midway the floor (with thatch was it strewn), burned for ever the fire-flame Glad on its stone-built hearth; and through the wide-mouthed smoke-flue Looked the stars, those heavenly friends, down into the great hall, But round the walls, upon nails of steel, were hanging in order Breastplate and helm with each other, and here and there in among them Downward lightened a sword, as in winter evening a star shoots. More than helmets and swords, the shields in the banquet-hall glisten, White as the orb of the sun, or white as the moon’s disc of silver. Ever and anon went a maid round the board and filled up the drink-horns; Ever she cast down her eyes and blushed; in the shield her reflection Blushed too, even as she;—this gladdened the hard-drinking champions.
FRITHIOF’S TEMPTATION.
Spring is coming, birds are twittering, forests leaf, and smiles the sun, And the loosened torrents downward singing to the ocean run; Glowing like the cheek of Freya, peeping rosebuds ’gin to ope, And in human hearts awaken love of life, and joy, and hope. Now will hunt the ancient monarch, and the queen shall join the sport; Swarming in its gorgeous splendour is assembled all the court; Bows ring loud, and quivers rattle, stallions paw the ground alway, And, with hoods upon their eyelids, falcons scream aloud for prey. See, the queen of the chase advances! Frithiof, gaze not on the sight! Like a star upon a spring-cloud sits she on her palfrey white, Half of Freya, half of Rota, yet more beauteous than these two, And from her light hat of purple wave aloft the feathers blue. Now the huntsman’s band is ready. Hurrah! over hill and dale! Morns ring, and the hawks right upward to the hall of Odin sail. All the dwellers in the forest seek in fear their cavern homes, But with spear outstretched before her, after them Valkyria comes.
Then threw Frithiof down his mantle, and upon the greensward spread, And the ancient king so trustful laid on Frithiof’s knees his head; Slept, as calmly as the hero sleepeth after war’s alarms On his shield, calm as an infant sleepeth in its mother’s arms. As he slumbers, hark! there sings a coal-black bird upon a bough: “Hasten, Frithiof, slay the old man, close your quarrel at a blow; Take his queen, for she is thine, and once the bridal kiss she gave; Now no human eye beholds thee; deep and silent is the grave.” Frithiof listens; hark! there sings a snow-white bird upon the bough: “Though no human eye beholds thee, Odin’s eye beholds thee now. Coward, wilt thou murder slumber? a defenceless old man slay? Whatsoe’er thou winn’st, thou canst not win a hero’s fame this way.” Thus the two wood-birds did warble; Frithiof took his war-sword good, With a shudder hurled it from him, far into the gloomy wood. Coal-black bird flies down to Nastrand; but on light unfolded wings, Like the tone of harps, the other, sounding towards the sun upsprings. Straight the ancient king awakens. “Sweet has been my sleep,” he said; “Pleasantly sleeps one in the shadow, guarded by a brave man’s blade. But where is thy sword, O stranger? Lightning’s brother, where is he? Who thus parts you, who should never from each other parted be?” “It avails not,” Frithiof answered; “in the North are other swords; Sharp, O monarch, is the sword’s tongue, and it speaks not peaceful words; Murky spirits dwell in steel blades, spirits from the Niffelhem, Slumber is not safe before them, silver locks but anger them.”
THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD’S SUPPER.
PREFATORY REMARKS.
This poem, from the Swedish of Bishop Tegnér, enjoys no inconsiderable reputation in the North of Europe. It is an Idyl descriptive of rural life in Sweden, round which something primeval and picturesque still lingers.
You pass out from the gate of a city, and, as if by magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. Around you are forests of fir, with their long, fan-like branches; while underfoot is spread a carpet of yellow leaves. On a wooden bridge you cross a little silver stream: and anon come forth into a pleasant land of farms. Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. The gates are opened by troops of children, and the peasants take off their hats as you pass. The houses in the village and smaller towns are built of hewn timber, and are generally painted red. The floors of the taverns are strewn with the fragrant tips of fir boughs. In many villages there are no taverns, and the peasants take turns in receiving travellers. The thrifty housewife shows you into the best chamber, the walls of which are hung round with rude pictures from the Bible; and she brings you curdled milk from the pan, with oaten cakes baked some months before. Meanwhile, the sturdy husband has brought his horses from the plough, and harnessed them to your carriage. Solitary travellers come and go in uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of them are smoking pipes, and have hanging around their necks in front a leather wallet, in which they carry tobacco, and the great bank-notes of the country. You meet, also, groups of barefooted Dalekarlian peasant women, travelling in pursuit of work, carrying in their hands their shoes, which have high heels under the hollow of the foot, and soles of birch bark.
Frequent, too, are the village churches, standing by the road-side. In the churchyard are a few flowers, and much green grass. The grave-stones are flat, large, low, and perhaps sunken, like the roofs of old houses; the tenants all sleeping with their heads to the westward. Each held a lighted taper in his hand when he died; and in his coffin were placed his little heart-treasures, and a piece of money for his last journey. Babes that came lifeless into the world were carried in the arms of grey-haired old men to the only cradle they ever slept in; and in the shroud of the dead mother were laid the little garments of the child, that lived and died in her bosom. Near the churchyard gate stands a poor-box, with a sloping roof over it, fastened to a post by iron bands, and secured by a padlock. If it be Sunday, the peasants sit on the church steps and con their psalm-books. Others are coming down the road, listening to their beloved pastor. He is their patriarch, and, like Melchizedek, both priest and king, though he has no other throne than the church pulpit. The women carry psalm-books in their hands, wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen devoutly to the good man’s words. But the young men, like Gallio, care for none of these things. They are busy counting the plaits in the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number being an indication of the wearer’s wealth.
I must not forget to speak of the suddenly changing seasons of the Northern clime. There is no long spring, gradually unfolding leaf and blossom;—no lingering autumn, pompous with many-coloured leaves. But winter and summer are wonderful, and pass into each other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, when winter from the folds of trailing clouds sows broad-cast over the land snow, icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above the horizon, or does not rise at all. The moon and the stars shine through the day; only, at noon, they are pale and wan, and in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns along the horizon, and then goes out. And pleasantly under the silver moon, and twinkling stars, ring the steel shoes of the skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the sound of bells.
And now the Northern Lights begin to burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams playing in the waters of the blue sea. Then a soft crimson glow tinges the heavens. There is a blush on the cheek of night. The colours come and go; and change from crimson to gold, from gold to crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames a fiery sword; and a broad band passes athwart the heavens, like a summer sunset. Soft purple clouds come sailing over the sky, and through their vapoury folds the winking stars shine white as silver. With such pomp as this is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a single star heralded the first Christmas. And in memory of that day the Swedish peasants dance on straw; and the peasant girls throw straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for every one that sticks in a crack shall a groomsman come to their wedding. Merry indeed is Christmas-time for Swedish peasants; brandy and nut-brown ale in wooden bowls; and the great Yulecake crowned with a cheese, and garlanded with apples, and upholding a three-armed candlestick over the Christmas feast.
And now leafy mid-summer, full of blossoms and the song of nightingales, is come. In every village there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths and roses and ribands streaming in the wind, and a noisy weathercock on top. The sun does not set till ten o’clock at night; and the children are at play in the streets an hour later. The windows and doors are all open, and you may sit and read till midnight without a candle. O how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless yet unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long, mild twilight, which unites to-day with yesterday! How beautiful the silent hour, when Morning and Evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! From the church tower in the public square the bell tolls the hour, with a soft musical chime; and the watchman, whose watch-tower is the belfry, blows a blast on his horn, for each stroke of the hammer, and four times, for the four corners of the heavens, in a sonorous voice he chants,—
“Ho! watchman, ho! Twelve is the clock! God keep our town From fire and brand, And hostile hand! Twelve is the clock!”
From his swallow’s nest in the belfry he can see the sun all night long; and farther north the priest stands at his door in the warm midnight, and lights his pipe with a common burning-glass.
I trust that these remarks will not be deemed irrelevant to the poem, but will lead to a clearer understanding of it. The translation is literal perhaps to a fault. In no instance have I done the author a wrong, by introducing into his work any supposed improvements or embellishments of my own. I have preserved even the measure; in which, it must be confessed, the motions of the English Muse are not unlike those of a prisoner dancing to the music of his chains; and perhaps, as Dr. Johnson said of the dancing dog, “the wonder is not that she should do it so well, but that she should do it at all.”
Esaias Tegnér, the author of this poem, was born in the parish of By, in Wärmland, in the year 1782. In 1799 he entered the University of Lund, as a student; and in 1812 was appointed Professor of Greek in that institution. In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexiö. He is the glory and boast of Sweden, and stands first among all her poets living or dead. His principal work is Frithiof’s Saga; one of the most remarkable poems of the age. Bishop Tegnér is a prophet honoured in his own country, adding one more to the list of great names that adorn her history.
Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village Gleaming stood in the morning’s sheen. On the spire of the belfry, Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime. Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned by roses, Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet Murmured gladness and peace, God’s-peace! with lips rosy-tinted Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest. Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arbour Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of iron Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection. Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed (There full a hundred years had it stood), was embellished with blossoms, Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet, Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children’s children, So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes, While all around at his feet an eternity slumbered in quiet. Also the church within was adorned, for this was the season When the young, their parents’ hope, and the loved ones of heaven, Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions[133] Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher’s pulpit of oak-wood Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silver, Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Hörberg,[134] Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angels Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work. Likewise the lustre of brass, new polished, blinked from the ceiling, And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembled Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ, Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle, So cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voice Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal Of the sublime Wallín,[135] of David’s harp in the Northland Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its mighty pinions Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, And each face did shine like the Holy One’s face upon Tabor. Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher. Father he hight and he was in the parish; a christianly plainness Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered grave-stone a sunbeam. As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) Th’ Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, Grey, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man; Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered, But with a cordial look to the right and the left hand, the old man Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel. Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service, Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came, Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancel, Followed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their places, Delicate figures, with close-curling hair, and cheeks rosy-blooming. But on the left of these, there stood the tremulous lilies, Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens,— Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavement. Now came, with question and answer, the Catechism. In the beginning, Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man’s Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted. Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer, Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied. Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them, And to the children explained the holy, the highest in few words, Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple, Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning. E’en as the green-growing bud is unfolded when Spring-tide approaches, Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed by the radiant sunshine, Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes, So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation, Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer. Now went the old man up to the altar;—and straightway transfigured (So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. Like the Lord’s Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judgment Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward descending Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him were transparent Shot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off. So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he questioned. “This is the faith of the Fathers, the Faith the Apostles delivered, This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, while still ye Lay on your mothers’ breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven. Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom; Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendour Downward rains from the heaven,—to-day on the threshold of childhood Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election, For she knows nought of compulsion, and only conviction desireth. This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, Seed for the coming days; without revocation departeth Now from your lips the confession; Bethink ye, before ye make answer! Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher. Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood. Enter not with a lie on Life’s journey; the multitude hears you, Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy Standeth before your sight as a witness; the Judge everlasting Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside him Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon tablets eternal. Thus, then,—Believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created? Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united? Will ye promise me here (a holy promise!), to cherish God more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother? Will ye promise me here to confirm your faith by your living, Th’ heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness? Will ye promise me this before God and man?”—With a clear voice Answered the young men Yes! and Yes! with lips softly breathing Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the Teacher Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake in accents more gentle, Soft as the evening’s breath, as harps by Babylon’s rivers. “Hail, then, hail to you all! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome; Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters! Yet,—for what reason not children? Of such is the kingdom of heaven. Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father, Ruling them all as his household,—forgiving in turn and chastising, That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. Blest are the pure before God! Upon purity and upon virtue Resteth the Christian Faith; she herself from on high is descended. Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for. O! as ye wander this day from childhood’s sacred asylum Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age’s chill valley, Oh! how soon will ye come,—too soon!—and long to turn backward Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where Judgment Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother, Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven. Life was a play, and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven! Seventy years have I lived already; the Father eternal Gave me gladness and care; but the loveliest hours of existence, When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them, Known them all again;—they were my childhood’s acquaintance. Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence, Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man’s childhood. Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life’s roaring billows Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping. Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men; in the desert Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth Nought of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble, Follows so long as she may her friend; O do not reject her, For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. Prayer is Innocence’ friend; and willingly flieth incessant ’Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flames ever upward. Still he recalls with emotion his Father’s manifold mansions, Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets, Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the wingèd angels. Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heaven Longs the wanderer again; and the Spirit’s longings are worship; Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. Ah! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard,— Then it is good to pray unto God; for His sorrowing children Turns he ne’er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them. Yet it is better to pray when all things are prosperous with us, Pray in fortunate days, for Life’s most beautiful Fortune Kneels before the Eternal’s throne; and, with hands interfolded, Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of blessings. Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven? What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received? Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs adoring Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him who Hung his masonry pendant on nought, when the world he created. Earth declareth his might, and the firmament uttereth his glory. Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniums Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing. Who shall stand in His presence? The wrath of the Judge is terrific, Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck. Yet,—why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful avenger, Ah! is a merciful God! God’s voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. Love is the root of creation; God’s essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only: Only to love and be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. Quench, O quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being. Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father nor mother Loved you, as God has loved you; for ’twas that you may be happy Gave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hour, Solemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed. Lo! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividing Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising, Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other Th’ answer, but dreamed of before, to creation’s enigma,—Atonement! Depths of Love are Atonement’s depths, for Love is Atonement. Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father; Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection; Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing; Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only. Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren; One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead? Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is he not sailing Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided By the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother? Hateth he thee, forgive! For ’tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal’s language;—on earth it is callèd Forgiveness! Knowest thou him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his temples? Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? Say, dost thou know him? Ah! thou confesseth his name, so follow likewise his example, Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly Shepherd Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. Love is the creature’s welfare, with God; but love among mortals Is but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting, Suffers, and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. Hope,—so is called upon earth, his recompense,—Hope, the befriending, Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful Plunges her anchor’s peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows! Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, Having nought else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven, Him, who has given us more! for to us has Hope been transfigured, Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living assurance. Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the eye of affection, Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble. Faith is the sun of life; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew’s, For she has looked upon God; the heaven on its stable foundation Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinketh Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapours descending. There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the figures majestic, Fears not the wingèd crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead. Therefore love and believe; for works will follow spontaneous, Even as day does the sun; the Right from the Good is an offspring, Love in a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than Animate Love and Faith, as flowers are the animate spring-tide. Works do follow us all unto God; there stand and bear witness Not what they seemed,—but what they were only. Blessed is he who Hears their confession secure; they are mute upon earth until Death’s hand Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e’er alarm you? Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is only More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fading Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in the arm of affection, Places the ransomed child, new born, ’fore the face of its Father. Sounds of his coming already I hear,—see dimly his pinions, Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them! I fear not before him. Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast; and face to face standing, Look I on God as He is, a sun unpolluted by vapours; Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic, Nobler, better than I; they stand by the throne all transfigured, Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels. You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather, Never forgets he the weary;—then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter! Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, Wander from holiness onward to holiness; earth shall ye heed not; Earth is but dust and heaven is light; I have pledged you to heaven. God of the Universe, hear me; thou fountain of Love everlasting, Hark to the voice of thy servant! I send up my prayer to thy heaven! Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, Whom thou hast given me here! I have loved them all like a father. May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation, Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word; again may they know me, Fall on their Teacher’s breast, and before thy face may I place them, Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness Father, lo! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me!” Weeping he spake in these words; and now at the beck of the old man, Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar’s enclosure. Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly With him the children read; at the close, with tremulous accents, Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon them. Now should have ended his task for the day; the following Sunday Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord’s holy Supper. Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent, and laid his Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; while thoughts high and holy Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. “On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I shall rest in the graveyard! Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? the hour is accomplished. Warm is the heart;—I will! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. What I began accomplish I now; for what failing therein is, I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father. Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement? What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atonement a token, ’Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressions Far has wandered from God, from his essence. ’Twas in the beginning Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o’er the Fall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; in the Heart the Atonement. Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite likewise. See! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals. Sin is brought forth full-grown; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms Still as the cradled babe; and dreams of heaven and of angels, Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in the harp’s strings, Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer’s finger. Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all resplendent, Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o’ercomes her. Downward to earth He came and transfigured, thence reascended, Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the Spirit, Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement. Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token. Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlasting Unto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that has vision. Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowed Lieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of amendment Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes all Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arm wide extended, Penitence weeping and praying; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flows Purified forth from the flames; in a word, mankind by Atonement Breaketh Atonement’s bread, and drinketh Atonement’s wine-cup. But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom, Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ’s blessed body, And the Redeemer’s blood! To himself he eateth and drinketh Death and doom! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father! Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement?” Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children “Yes!” with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplications, Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem; “O! Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, Hear us! give us thy peace! have mercy, have mercy upon us!” Th’ old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols, O! then seemed it to me, as if God, with the broad eye of mid-day, Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the churchyard Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves ’gan to shiver. But in the children (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran a Tremor of holy rapture along through their icy-cold members. Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above it Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen; they saw there Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer. Under them hear they the clang of harp-strings, and angels from gold clouds Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. Closed was the Teacher’s task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings, Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses.