And shivers and sobs,
With lab'ring throbs,
With its whirls my strong palms play'd.
I parted my flags,
For thirsty stags,
On the necks of arches laid.
To the dry-vined town
My tide roll'd down—
Dry lips and throats a-quiver,
Rent sky and sod
With shouts "From God
The strength of the mighty river!"
I, list'ning, heard
The soft-song'd bird;
The beetle about thy boles.
The calling breeze,
In thy crests, O Trees—
Never the voices of souls!"
* * * * *
We, freed souls, of the Trees look'd down
On the river's shining eyes of brown;
And upward smiled
At the tender air and its warrior child,
The iron eagle strong and wild.
* * * * *
"No will of ours,
The captive souls of our barky tow'rs;
"His the deed
Who laid in the secret earth the seed;
And with strong hand
Knitted each woody fetter and band.
Never, ye
Ask of the tree,
The "Wherefore" or "Why" the tall trees stand,
Built in their places on the land
Their souls unknit;
With any wisdom or any wit,
The subtle "Why,"
Ask ye not of earth or sky—
But one command it.
GISLI: THE CHIEFTAIN.
To the Goddess Lada prayed
Gisli, holding high his spear
Bound with buds of spring, and laughed
All his heart to Lada's ear.
Damp his yellow beard with mead,
Loud the harps clang'd thro the day;
With bruised breasts triumphant rode
Gisli's galleys in the bay.