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

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when hot blood swells the age’s arteries; —
we’re made to plough the soil and plough the seas;
with us it’s sweat, not blood, that should be flowing.
“Ten years from now murk will beset the nation,
the clammy half-night, fit for dwarfish chores,
where between good and bad the will see-saws,
each vision abject, heart, one desiccation.
Then through the land shall clouds of coal-smoke lour,
as ashes o’er that ancient city loomed,
but no-one seems to see the region’s doomed,
and no-one thinks to flee the fatal hour.
“The contrary! Within the mine’s cramped quarters
the dwarf-folk in complacent toil combine,
and hack the ore to songs of dripping waters,
with hunched backs on their soul as on their spine.
Each heart-beat will be muffled by the hammer,
each soul-felt cry by saw-blades under file;
a friend’s distress will draw no heart-rent clamour,
a kinsman’s downfall will not quench a smile. —
“And were the sun of Norway’s faith once threatened
by Doubt’s fell Fenris wolf-howl gruff and grim,
the dwarf descendent will have merely reckoned
it was thing for others, not for him.
He’s of a folk created not for strife
or triumph, or renown, but altercation, —
he’s quite content to gain, in afterlife,
a bit of bliss or else a small damnation.
“The nail-marks in the hands — to him, what matter?
The Mount of Olives and the mortal dread?
The thorn-fangs that made blood-red rubies scatter
as at that hour they gashed the Lord’s dear head?
It was, of course, for others, Christ’s last passion;
for them He came as love’s interpreter; —
the thong-lash from the Wandering Jew’s our ration,
was all our Lord, for this folk, had to bear!”
No word in answer. Like scared children where,
searching the hill-side for ripe-berried places,
they came upon the savage mountain bear,
those two stood mute and spellbound in their traces.
Eyes fixed upon this furious apparition,
their cold hands linked together, gripping fast,
staring behind them, terrified, aghast,
they stole away with soundless expedition.
They were soon out of eyeshot. Einar panted,
like one who’d fought a hard and bitter fight;