THE COLLECTED POEMS OF HENRIK IBSEN Translated by John ...

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His eye a pensive grief portrayed
As in a glass reflected,
Upon his brow a shadow played,
His mind soared, far-projected;
For distant Scotland’s royal throne
It gull-like spanned the water,
Where sceptre, bride-bed, burial-stone
Stand ready for his daughter.
On the king’s left strode pace for pace
The Scottish lord new-cited
To serve in the Crown Prince’s place
And to his bride be plighted.
He raised upon his massive arm
The fair maid who sat gazing
Upon the evening’s noisy charm,
The links and lanterns blazing.
Like a small plaything of her own
Her little hands were bearing
The crown which on far Scotland’s throne
She would, as queen, be wearing;
She showed the precious jewellery
As on the troop went sweeping:
“See what my father’s given me;
Now it’s all mine, for keeping!”
The throng laughed loudly and with zest
And clapped their hands right bravely;
But in the king’s wake strode a guest,
With teeth tight-clenched, full gravely.
Withdrawn, a frown his forehead seamed,
His smile, part indignation;
Sir Audun Hugleikssøn, esteemed
The first man of the nation.
But Haakon, Audun’s near of kin,
A duke, the king’s own brother,
At the child’s words, with crafty grin
Looked sharply at the other;
He stole a glance at Audun’s grip,
In fury clenched so tightly,
Then nodded at the sweet young slip
Who sat the Scot’s arm lightly.
And after in a medley streamed
Lords, ladies bright as flowers;
Fine silver head-tires softly gleamed
Beneath the green-wood bowers;
As phosphorescence in the night