Hjelma
STANDS Hjelma at her lady’s chair,
Serving with ready hands,
About her head her shining hair
Braided in golden strands.
A rose blooms in her maiden cheek,
And on her mouth’s repose
A sweet content she cannot speak
Is lovelier than the rose.
“What is that shrill and sudden cry,
My little maiden? Say!”
“The wild wind shakes the windows high,
And tears the sea to spray;
”Oh see you not the black, black sky,
My mistress dear?" cries she.
“The squall comes down, the waves run high;
Oh hear you not the sea?
”Oh glad am I the boats are in,
And little Nils and Lars
Are safe, before the waves begin
To leap across the stars!"
And up and down and here and there
She goes with willing feet,
So busy, with that gentle air
Of still contentment sweet!
At the far reef, since morning light,
All day her brothers twain
About the wreck of yesternight
Have worked with might and main.
She knows not when the cruel gale
Made wild the waning day,
It seized upon their shivering sail
And flung their skiff away.
She knows not they are driven, lost,
Over the roaring brine,
Toward the dim, billow-beaten coast,
While heaven will make no sign,
But scatters down its freezing snow
To hide the fading light,
And drives its hurricane below
To fright the shuddering night.
She hums her sweet Norwegian songs,
She lights the lamps, and smiles;
The breakers rush in raging throngs
Across the lonely miles.
And where is handsome Lars, so tall?
And where is Nils, so dear?
Upon her soul no shadows fall,
Nor any hint of fear.
And who shall speak to break the spell?
And who will deal the blow?
The brothers twain she loved so well,
Their fate must Hjelma know!
Loud thunders on the savage storm,
With deep, defiant roar;
Unconscious in her shelter warm
She hears it lash the shore.
And brightly shines her braided hair,
And on her mouth’s repose
Is sweet content, untouched by care,
And on her cheek the rose.
