Classic Poem

Farewell, my lyre! for now the course is run.
Lay thee to sleep; our singing-time is done.
Before thy tones my sorrow often fled
As Saul's of old. The echoes of them sped
Through many a good, yea, far more worthy breast.
I'm done with thee. Be still, and take thy rest!

“Syea” I once did sing and “Frithiof's Lay,”
To Nature, Man, and God mine anthems rang:
In sober truth I lived but when I sang.
From north to south the winds did shift and sway,
My poor heart had from thorns full many a pang,
But many a rose would charm the pain away.
I scarce can tell—my days have seemed so brief—
If I had more of joy or more of grief.

Thou wert my weapon, naught but thee I carried.
Thou wert my shield, none other could I get.
We went upon adventures, never tarried,
We once would conquer everything we met.
But at the grave the scutcheon must be shattered;
God bids me now depart, my race is dead or scattered.

Thou Poetry, where erst my soul did dwell,
Spirit of heaven, farewell, a long farewell!
I must go hence, my days will be but few.
Thou wert my everything: the Good, the True.
I loved thee before all and over all;
From heaven thou dost beckon me and call.

The day shall dawn when, from my ashes rising,
A bard shall come to sing with bolder might
A strain more lofty than my best devising,
A song I dreamed not ere my strength took flight,
Of all that 's noble in our Northland story,
Of all the might that still is Sweden's glory.

Farewell! I end where I began with thee,
O Song, my only true Reality,
Life of my life, the undying spark within me;
I part, though to the parting scarce I win me.
Brothers, the time 's not yet, but on some day
We 'll part no more, have no farewells to say.—
But now, farewell! The parting 's not for long.
Wither, ye laurels, round my temples gray,
Die on my lips, O thou, my final song!