Sweden's Laureate: Selected Poems of Verner von Heidenstam/The Cradle-Songs of Goldilocks
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THE CRADLE-SONGS OF GOLDILOCKS.
I.
Seek, little Goldilocks, to and fro.
Where should our thoughts be flying?
Dark is thy father's bed and low,
Grasses wave when the night-winds blow,
Softly above him sighing.
All of me that was dear to him,
Braided tresses heavy and dim
Over my jacket straying;
All that I loved in him the while,
Lofty brow and the mischievous smile
Over his curved lips playing;
All that in either could set a-dance
The other's pulses and voice and glance
Is in thy life united.
Oh my son, my belovèd son,
Vainly the world with curse and stone
Lawless love would have blighted.
Lawless love, which even I
Wept for, has sprung into blossom now.
On toward the future it goes; it is thou,
'Tis a race that will never die.
Seek, little Goldilocks, to and fro.
Where should our thoughts be flying?
Dark is thy father's bed and low,
Grasses wave when the night-winds blow,
Softly above him sighing.
All of me that was dear to him,
Braided tresses heavy and dim
Over my jacket straying;
All that I loved in him the while,
Lofty brow and the mischievous smile
Over his curved lips playing;
All that in either could set a-dance
The other's pulses and voice and glance
Is in thy life united.
Oh my son, my belovèd son,
Vainly the world with curse and stone
Lawless love would have blighted.
Lawless love, which even I
Wept for, has sprung into blossom now.
On toward the future it goes; it is thou,
'Tis a race that will never die.
II.
(Mumble, tumble, bumble-bee!)
In a spider-woven tent
Under shining raindrops bent,
Beetle ladies form a ring
Round Miss Ladybird,
And, when she says anything,
Smirk at every word,
Bow at what they've heard.
Grasses all the meadow through
Wear wee bells of heavenly blue,
And some hundred ants there, too.
Listen from behind the stalks.
Hark now when the lady talks!
(Mumble, tumble, bumble-bee!)
In a spider-woven tent
Under shining raindrops bent,
Beetle ladies form a ring
Round Miss Ladybird,
And, when she says anything,
Smirk at every word,
Bow at what they've heard.
Grasses all the meadow through
Wear wee bells of heavenly blue,
And some hundred ants there, too.
Listen from behind the stalks.
Hark now when the lady talks!
(Mumble, tumble, bumble-bee!)
Watchman Glow-worm, bring me here
The largest bee that grazes near.
Lift the saddle down with speed,
Let your skilful hands
Deck with plumes the gallant steed
Fit for my commands.
Ride through all my lands.
Take as helm a silken gay
Chrysalis of silver-gray.
If you hear a cradle sway,
Step out on the sill of tin,
Raise your lamp and enter in.
Watchman Glow-worm, bring me here
The largest bee that grazes near.
Lift the saddle down with speed,
Let your skilful hands
Deck with plumes the gallant steed
Fit for my commands.
Ride through all my lands.
Take as helm a silken gay
Chrysalis of silver-gray.
If you hear a cradle sway,
Step out on the sill of tin,
Raise your lamp and enter in.
(Mumble, tumble, bumble-bee!)
Where will be her infant bed,
Where the crib to lay her head?—
Aye, the little one, the same
Goldilocks shall win,
Who will share his life, his name.
When she's found, send in
Tidings with a din.
Blow your fairy horn with power,
Clarion in the morning hour.
Wake then, guardian of my bower,
Seize the blue-bell stalks and swing
Until every one shall ring.
Where will be her infant bed,
Where the crib to lay her head?—
Aye, the little one, the same
Goldilocks shall win,
Who will share his life, his name.
When she's found, send in
Tidings with a din.
Blow your fairy horn with power,
Clarion in the morning hour.
Wake then, guardian of my bower,
Seize the blue-bell stalks and swing
Until every one shall ring.
III.
Sift the golden barley.
Many a grain is not of gold,
But the sieve that strains them
Always then retains them.
Soon we've half the sack will hold.
But to whom, now, grant it?
Grain is for the miller's box.
Nay, but I will plant it,
And my garden 's Goldilocks.
Sift the golden barley.
Many a grain is not of gold,
But the sieve that strains them
Always then retains them.
Soon we've half the sack will hold.
But to whom, now, grant it?
Grain is for the miller's box.
Nay, but I will plant it,
And my garden 's Goldilocks.
Sift the golden barley.
When the seed is springing,
Dream-sylphs in the moonlight fair,
To my garden winging,
Pray as at an altar there.
Soon the leaves are rifted
By a soldier's leveled spear,
Golden on his lifted
Finger starry gleams appear.
When the seed is springing,
Dream-sylphs in the moonlight fair,
To my garden winging,
Pray as at an altar there.
Soon the leaves are rifted
By a soldier's leveled spear,
Golden on his lifted
Finger starry gleams appear.
Sift the golden barley.
From his horse a lion's hide
Hangs. A thought yon star is.
And the soldier in his pride
Envoy from afar is.
Dream-sylphs, though, that hovered
Pluck the barb from out the breast
Which thin veils had covered
Vainly when the spear was pressed.
From his horse a lion's hide
Hangs. A thought yon star is.
And the soldier in his pride
Envoy from afar is.
Dream-sylphs, though, that hovered
Pluck the barb from out the breast
Which thin veils had covered
Vainly when the spear was pressed.
Sift the golden barley.
Stained with blood, the tender
Maidens bend the spear of thought,
Till upon their slender
Knees to rosy harps 'tis wrought.
Of the star-beams featly
Next they spin the strings, and aye
Through his lifetime sweetly
Unto Goldilocks will play.
Stained with blood, the tender
Maidens bend the spear of thought,
Till upon their slender
Knees to rosy harps 'tis wrought.
Of the star-beams featly
Next they spin the strings, and aye
Through his lifetime sweetly
Unto Goldilocks will play.
IV.
May east or may west the great castle be spied
Where no one is watching or dwelling?
The grumbling rain in a foamy gray tide
From the rusty roof-spouts is welling.
Now, weather-cock, turn in the wind and hark
What the rain-spouts sing as the day grows dark.—
"Hoohoo!" comes his crow out-swelling.
May east or may west the great castle be spied
Where no one is watching or dwelling?
The grumbling rain in a foamy gray tide
From the rusty roof-spouts is welling.
Now, weather-cock, turn in the wind and hark
What the rain-spouts sing as the day grows dark.—
"Hoohoo!" comes his crow out-swelling.
A daughter of earth came merrily up
In a ship that with bricks was freighted.
She built then the walls from cellar to top,
While her tears with her smiles were mated.
A pink doll sat at the table and ate
With candies instead of eggs on her plate,
"That 's good!" said the doll, elated.
In a ship that with bricks was freighted.
She built then the walls from cellar to top,
While her tears with her smiles were mated.
A pink doll sat at the table and ate
With candies instead of eggs on her plate,
"That 's good!" said the doll, elated.
While the doll was eating, and myrtle was strewed
In the chamber, our queen was moving
To the open spinet with pensive mood,
Her wide eyes wondrous and loving.
On the lid by their flocks in the blossomy spring
Were shepherd and shepherdess reveling.
"I know," said the roof-stork, approving.
In the chamber, our queen was moving
To the open spinet with pensive mood,
Her wide eyes wondrous and loving.
On the lid by their flocks in the blossomy spring
Were shepherd and shepherdess reveling.
"I know," said the roof-stork, approving.
Deserted since then is each stair and room.
If doubtful she turns the key there,
Amid hats and cloaks she hunts in the gloom
For what memories still may be there.
The fairest she takes in her arms along
And weaves of the memories Goldilocks' song.
"That 's life!" cries the cock with glee there.
If doubtful she turns the key there,
Amid hats and cloaks she hunts in the gloom
For what memories still may be there.
The fairest she takes in her arms along
And weaves of the memories Goldilocks' song.
"That 's life!" cries the cock with glee there.
V.
On a ferny hill-crest lo!
Now the sun-ball pauses.
Goldilocks and mother go
O'er the shining mosses.
Goldilocks will bravely choose
On that ball to journey.
Well, put on your wooden shoes
Or the sun will burn ye.
On a ferny hill-crest lo!
Now the sun-ball pauses.
Goldilocks and mother go
O'er the shining mosses.
Goldilocks will bravely choose
On that ball to journey.
Well, put on your wooden shoes
Or the sun will burn ye.
What 's the sun? A ball of wool
Wound when threads unravel
From an overladen spool.
Now it starts to travel.
Feel the winds how strong they blow!
Nothing you can hold to.
I've the thread you're tied on, though;
Laugh, then, and be bold, too!
Wound when threads unravel
From an overladen spool.
Now it starts to travel.
Feel the winds how strong they blow!
Nothing you can hold to.
I've the thread you're tied on, though;
Laugh, then, and be bold, too!
Off the ball bounds, far abroad
Golden sparks are shaken.—
Stubble snaps along the road
Where my steps are taken.
Whitened boughs like monstrous bones
Here the earth encumber.
Hark! it seemed from yonder stones
Something sighed in slumber.
Golden sparks are shaken.—
Stubble snaps along the road
Where my steps are taken.
Whitened boughs like monstrous bones
Here the earth encumber.
Hark! it seemed from yonder stones
Something sighed in slumber.
Now a dog in brushwood dim
Sniffs and starts a-growling.—
Off in space beyond Earth's rim
You by this are rolling.
Where 's your laughter taken flight?
Does the darkness cover
Now your eyes, with starry night
Under you and over?
Sniffs and starts a-growling.—
Off in space beyond Earth's rim
You by this are rolling.
Where 's your laughter taken flight?
Does the darkness cover
Now your eyes, with starry night
Under you and over?
Apsarases, nymphs of air,
In celestial dances,
Veiled in beams of moonlight, bear
Each a lamp that glances.
Wrought of fragrant cloud-stuff they,
When the gods were strewing
Star-dust of the Milky Way
For their nectar-brewing.
In celestial dances,
Veiled in beams of moonlight, bear
Each a lamp that glances.
Wrought of fragrant cloud-stuff they,
When the gods were strewing
Star-dust of the Milky Way
For their nectar-brewing.
These go searching in a ring
Never far asunder,
And each lamp 's a world, a thing
Fit for highest wonder.
But your ball, with whizzing din
Downward, downward gliding,
Nears an isle behind a thin
Mist-spun trellis hiding.
Never far asunder,
And each lamp 's a world, a thing
Fit for highest wonder.
But your ball, with whizzing din
Downward, downward gliding,
Nears an isle behind a thin
Mist-spun trellis hiding.
Blue Elysium lies outspread
By the myrtle strand there.
You may roam among the dead,
Take them by the hand there.
Each one has the will to teach,
By his lore to guide you.
In your life thereafter each
Still will walk beside you.
By the myrtle strand there.
You may roam among the dead,
Take them by the hand there.
Each one has the will to teach,
By his lore to guide you.
In your life thereafter each
Still will walk beside you.
Old Diogenes stumbles out,
Bow-legged, brown and hairy,
From his tub with raucous shout:
"Butterfly, be wary!
You're all giddy and aglow;
Water 's in the sand, lad,
And the finest cup I know
Is the scooping hand, lad."
Bow-legged, brown and hairy,
From his tub with raucous shout:
"Butterfly, be wary!
You're all giddy and aglow;
Water 's in the sand, lad,
And the finest cup I know
Is the scooping hand, lad."
Saladin in iron coat
Waits you swart, each crimson
Ruby gleaming as a float
From the lake it swims on.
"Though my iron boots are meet
For no small foot's wearing,
Take and put them on your feet.
See! your shoes are charring."
Waits you swart, each crimson
Ruby gleaming as a float
From the lake it swims on.
"Though my iron boots are meet
For no small foot's wearing,
Take and put them on your feet.
See! your shoes are charring."
Next you hear the Sibyl's croak.
All her mantle 's yellow
From the clouds of sulphur smoke:
"Soon you'll know, young fellow,—
When into my well your ball
Drops, with sulphur reeking,—
What the nymphs have sought, what all,
All of us are seeking."
All her mantle 's yellow
From the clouds of sulphur smoke:
"Soon you'll know, young fellow,—
When into my well your ball
Drops, with sulphur reeking,—
What the nymphs have sought, what all,
All of us are seeking."
From the well a voice oppressed
Cries: "With ardor many
Men gaze into their own breast.
Boy, we seek for any
Child who, man, shall lift the sun
From the mists' dark hollow.
Goldilocks, if you're the one,
Lead us, and we follow!"
Cries: "With ardor many
Men gaze into their own breast.
Boy, we seek for any
Child who, man, shall lift the sun
From the mists' dark hollow.
Goldilocks, if you're the one,
Lead us, and we follow!"
Now the ball has gone its track
To the farthest tether,
In a minute I'll wind back
Sun and you together.
Naked, star-eyed, you alight,
Your hot steed forsaking.
Well, good-morning! Day is bright.
Goldilocks is waking.
To the farthest tether,
In a minute I'll wind back
Sun and you together.
Naked, star-eyed, you alight,
Your hot steed forsaking.
Well, good-morning! Day is bright.
Goldilocks is waking.