Classic Poem

4. Night on the Shore.
Starless and cold is the night,
Wide yawns the sea;
And over the sea, stretched flat on his belly,
Lies the uncouth North-wind;
And in secret, with sobbing voice, under his breath,
Like a peevish old grumbler, an old acquaintance,
He prattles away to the water,
And tells it many wild stories —
Stories of giants, with resonant death-blows,
Ages-old sagas of Norway —
And between them wide-sounding he laughs, and he howls out
Conjuration songs of the Edda,
Runic sentences, too,
So darkly-defiant, and mighty in magic,
That the white daughters of Ocean
Leap up on high and exult
In mad delirious excitement.

Meanwhile, on the level sea-shore,
Over the tide-moistened sand,
Strides a stranger, who brings there a heart
Wilder yet than wind or billows,
Wherever he plants his feet
Sparks glitter — the sea-shells crackle,
And he wraps his grey cloak round him,
And strides swift through the blustering night:
His trusty guide a tiny candle,
That shines so inviting and loving
From a lonely fisherman's cottage.
Father and brother are out at sea,
And all by herself in the cottage
Tarries the fisherman's daughter,
The fisherman's lovely daughter.

On the hearth she is sitting,
And listening the while to her kettle
Singing and murmuring its song — sweet yet foreboding.
Then she scatters some crackling twigs on the fire,
And blows it up,
Till its flashing red flame-jets
With magical grace are reflected
On her sweet blooming visage,
On her tender white shoulder,
That peeps so touchingly
Out of her rough grey shift,
And on the little careful hand,
Tying her petticoat faster
Over her shapely hips.

But all on a sudden the door flies open,
And the night-walking stranger comes in.
Lovingly, trustingly, resteth his eye
On the fair-skinned, slender maiden,
As trembling she stands before him
Like to a startled lily.
And he throws his cloak on the floor down,
And smiles as he says:
" Child, as thou seest, I keep my word,
And I come, and with me comes
The old time, when the Gods out of heaven
Came down to the daughters of man:
And the daughters of man embraced them,
And with them engendered
Sceptred races of monarchs,
And heroes, the wonder of this world.
Still — marvel, my child, no longer
At my divinity,
But I beg you to make me some tea with rum in it,
For it's cold out of doors;
And in such a night air
Even we, the immortal Gods, get the shivers;
And we easily catch the most godlike catarrhs,
And a truly immortal cough. "