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

176
He spoke in a mild, level way:
“Terje Vigen’s himself again, he is well.
Until now my blood raced like a stream on the fell;
For I had to, I had to repay.
The long, long years in the prison’s maw,
`Twas they turned my heart amiss.
Since then I’ve bent like a highland straw,
I’ve peered in a foul abyss.
But now that’s all over; we’re quits withal;
You sinned without guile, I know.
I gave what I had — and you took my all,
And so, if you think you’ve been wronged, then call
On God, for He fashioned me so.” —
All safe and sound by the dawn’s first light;
The yacht lay in port at last.
The less said the better about that night
But still Terje’s name spread fast.
The nightmare’s grey clouds were swept away
By one night’s wild storm and wreck;
And Terje bore straighter than most from that day
The shoulders that bowed the time he lay
To kneel on the man-o-war’s deck.
Milord and milady came — crowds indeed —
As he stood in his poor abode;
They shook him by hand, bade farewell and God speed
And paid him the thanks they owed:
For rescue from howling gale, distress,
For rescue from shoal and wild sea;
But Terje was stroking the young child’s dress:
“Not so, our saviour in need was no less
Than this little mite by me!” — —
The yacht then headed for Hesnes Sound,
The Norwegian flag was raised.
Just to the west there is foam-washed ground, —
And there a salute-gun blazed.
A teardrop glistened in Terje’s eyes;
He watched from a nearby height:
“Much have I lost, much gained likewise.
Perhaps ‘twas a blessing in disguise, —
So the thanks, God, are yours by right!”
‘Twas thus that I saw him, just once — he lay
With his catch alongside the quay;
His hair was white but he sang, as gay
And spry as a boy was he.
He bantered with lasses who happened abroad,
He joked with the lads, each one,