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

179
Places I visited, where I had dreamed
As the full-blown storms and as flurries streamed
Cooling the brow of the waters.
Life in these parts has its wretcheder side;
Yet many a deed showing strength and bold pride
I can vouch for still in some quarters.
I still recall, though it’s years since then,
The quiet women, the silent men
At war with the might of the weather.
Their saga’s but short and briefly run, —
Yet in its course a great deed can be done;
Such as this I shall put together.
There lived in a haven that’s much the same
A pilot, — old, I forget his name
But know that war-service intruded.
He’d fought as a lad in the Roads the day
That Nelson put the white flag on display, —
Then came home when peace was concluded.
Now he was stooped, weather-beaten and grey.
His trio of sons, as all would say,
Were but so-so, and rated according.
Lads for the sea they were, that much was clear;
Were named thereabouts as first, without peer,
When it came to a ship and its boarding.
When perishing cold set in, blizzard and hail, —
It was out with the cutter — a reef in the sail,
Then off on the wings of the welter.
They knew every channel, restricted or clear,
They knew every inlet, far and near,
And they’d bring a ship into shelter.
They would yell in high glee when a loud tempest broke,
And headwind or no, they would stroke by stroke
Keep on till the ship was sighted.
But if they liked fighting the surf and swell
They fought just as gladly on land as well;
“A shame” said the folk, united.
In such a haven, as well you know,
Quite a large muster can often grow
Of foreign ships on their mooring.
Sometimes the cause is a head-on gale,
Sometimes it’s damage to shroud and sail,
Sometimes it’s planks that need shoring.