Translated from the Swedish, forThe Chautauquan.[K]
An isle there is in airy distanceWhere rise green forests, grim and tall,Its name eludes one with persistence,But occupied with genie small;The dewy air is dawn’s fresh greeting,And drowsy waves the reeds are beating,There poppies grow, and lilies rare,These only really thriving there,But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,To earthly mothers children leadeth.In poppy scent with lilies vieing,He gently flaps at water’s brink,To capture chubby genie trying,And begs them not to fear or shrink.The bantlings, in whose souls are blendedFragrance from both flowers expended,Which makes the tender sense appearIn these both slumbering and clear,Around the snowy stork would rally,And ventured not, but wished to dally.“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,The stork soon ruffles up his frill,He sees two tiny urchins flyingSo near as to be touched at will.But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!And feathers too, these shifting brightlyIn green, as light as young birch leavesWhen spring its bath of dew receives,In red, as pale a hue revealing,As streak at dawn, the mist concealing!At night they breast to breast had slumbered,In moonbeams’ silver veil did lieOn poppy-bed by waves unnumbered,To angels’ sweetest lullaby.Now stand they fresh as early morning,In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning.One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”The stork looks round quite loftily,And straightway to the youngsters striding,He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”The boy then answers, “I would try it,So on thy back pray let me sit!On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,But be not ugly—gently flit!”And up on snowy plumage springing,A shower of down around him flinging,Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou,Wilt thou not also travel nowAnd be a child to some good mother?”But no—too timid, shy, this other.They started off. The pleasure craving,So free and wild on stork he flew,And to his sister farewell waving,Until at last was lost to view.And she whose fear her trip prevented,Now wished to be along, repented.She felt so lonely, was not glad,And when next year the stork she had,Who late and early came and started,Her wish to ride next time imparted.He answered, “Come then, naught detaining!’Twas stupid to refuse last year;Not now the same good mother gainingAs he, the boy thou held so dear,For she beneath the turf is sleeping;But come, my little dove, now keepingMost careful hold around my neck,And scream not till our course we check!”And round his neck her arms she twineth,And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth.On earth they grew up well protected,The boy to manhood had attained,A beauteous maiden, she, perfected,When first they met, as seemed ordained.Were early memories, reviving,To draw them soul to soul now striving?Was it the roguish stork, oh say,That thus together brought their way?I think that fate great fondness bore them,When choosing different mothers for them.But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly,The woodland home in which they dwell!The cause of it I know not rightlyWhy storks just there should thrive so well,Andoneespecially, who hoversOn roof which inner chamber covers,And goes and flaps with all his mightSo crimson-booted, silver-white,And best she worked, the mother hinted,When he had sticks and straws unstinted.Each fall he goes, the habit keeping,But seen each spring again on roof,From there o’er house and garden peeping;And can I judge, or take as proofThe children I have seen there playing,Full often has the stork been strayingTo that fair poppy-covered isle,And now brings lass with winsome smile,And now a lovely boy, a treasure;This must afford him constant pleasure.As pedagogue he struts hereafter,And trousers of the boys he pecksWith bill, rewarded then with laughter,If naughtiness or prank detects;But yet for their protection striving,And serpents from the garden driving,And patiently will he complyWhen “Long-legs, come!” the children cry.Each eve from thatch so closely heeding,If they the psalms are nicely reading.
An isle there is in airy distanceWhere rise green forests, grim and tall,Its name eludes one with persistence,But occupied with genie small;The dewy air is dawn’s fresh greeting,And drowsy waves the reeds are beating,There poppies grow, and lilies rare,These only really thriving there,But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,To earthly mothers children leadeth.In poppy scent with lilies vieing,He gently flaps at water’s brink,To capture chubby genie trying,And begs them not to fear or shrink.The bantlings, in whose souls are blendedFragrance from both flowers expended,Which makes the tender sense appearIn these both slumbering and clear,Around the snowy stork would rally,And ventured not, but wished to dally.“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,The stork soon ruffles up his frill,He sees two tiny urchins flyingSo near as to be touched at will.But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!And feathers too, these shifting brightlyIn green, as light as young birch leavesWhen spring its bath of dew receives,In red, as pale a hue revealing,As streak at dawn, the mist concealing!At night they breast to breast had slumbered,In moonbeams’ silver veil did lieOn poppy-bed by waves unnumbered,To angels’ sweetest lullaby.Now stand they fresh as early morning,In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning.One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”The stork looks round quite loftily,And straightway to the youngsters striding,He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”The boy then answers, “I would try it,So on thy back pray let me sit!On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,But be not ugly—gently flit!”And up on snowy plumage springing,A shower of down around him flinging,Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou,Wilt thou not also travel nowAnd be a child to some good mother?”But no—too timid, shy, this other.They started off. The pleasure craving,So free and wild on stork he flew,And to his sister farewell waving,Until at last was lost to view.And she whose fear her trip prevented,Now wished to be along, repented.She felt so lonely, was not glad,And when next year the stork she had,Who late and early came and started,Her wish to ride next time imparted.He answered, “Come then, naught detaining!’Twas stupid to refuse last year;Not now the same good mother gainingAs he, the boy thou held so dear,For she beneath the turf is sleeping;But come, my little dove, now keepingMost careful hold around my neck,And scream not till our course we check!”And round his neck her arms she twineth,And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth.On earth they grew up well protected,The boy to manhood had attained,A beauteous maiden, she, perfected,When first they met, as seemed ordained.Were early memories, reviving,To draw them soul to soul now striving?Was it the roguish stork, oh say,That thus together brought their way?I think that fate great fondness bore them,When choosing different mothers for them.But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly,The woodland home in which they dwell!The cause of it I know not rightlyWhy storks just there should thrive so well,Andoneespecially, who hoversOn roof which inner chamber covers,And goes and flaps with all his mightSo crimson-booted, silver-white,And best she worked, the mother hinted,When he had sticks and straws unstinted.Each fall he goes, the habit keeping,But seen each spring again on roof,From there o’er house and garden peeping;And can I judge, or take as proofThe children I have seen there playing,Full often has the stork been strayingTo that fair poppy-covered isle,And now brings lass with winsome smile,And now a lovely boy, a treasure;This must afford him constant pleasure.As pedagogue he struts hereafter,And trousers of the boys he pecksWith bill, rewarded then with laughter,If naughtiness or prank detects;But yet for their protection striving,And serpents from the garden driving,And patiently will he complyWhen “Long-legs, come!” the children cry.Each eve from thatch so closely heeding,If they the psalms are nicely reading.
An isle there is in airy distanceWhere rise green forests, grim and tall,Its name eludes one with persistence,But occupied with genie small;The dewy air is dawn’s fresh greeting,And drowsy waves the reeds are beating,There poppies grow, and lilies rare,These only really thriving there,But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,To earthly mothers children leadeth.
An isle there is in airy distance
Where rise green forests, grim and tall,
Its name eludes one with persistence,
But occupied with genie small;
The dewy air is dawn’s fresh greeting,
And drowsy waves the reeds are beating,
There poppies grow, and lilies rare,
These only really thriving there,
But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,
To earthly mothers children leadeth.
In poppy scent with lilies vieing,He gently flaps at water’s brink,To capture chubby genie trying,And begs them not to fear or shrink.The bantlings, in whose souls are blendedFragrance from both flowers expended,Which makes the tender sense appearIn these both slumbering and clear,Around the snowy stork would rally,And ventured not, but wished to dally.
In poppy scent with lilies vieing,
He gently flaps at water’s brink,
To capture chubby genie trying,
And begs them not to fear or shrink.
The bantlings, in whose souls are blended
Fragrance from both flowers expended,
Which makes the tender sense appear
In these both slumbering and clear,
Around the snowy stork would rally,
And ventured not, but wished to dally.
“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,The stork soon ruffles up his frill,He sees two tiny urchins flyingSo near as to be touched at will.But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!And feathers too, these shifting brightlyIn green, as light as young birch leavesWhen spring its bath of dew receives,In red, as pale a hue revealing,As streak at dawn, the mist concealing!
“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,
The stork soon ruffles up his frill,
He sees two tiny urchins flying
So near as to be touched at will.
But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!
And feathers too, these shifting brightly
In green, as light as young birch leaves
When spring its bath of dew receives,
In red, as pale a hue revealing,
As streak at dawn, the mist concealing!
At night they breast to breast had slumbered,In moonbeams’ silver veil did lieOn poppy-bed by waves unnumbered,To angels’ sweetest lullaby.Now stand they fresh as early morning,In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning.One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”The stork looks round quite loftily,And straightway to the youngsters striding,He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”
At night they breast to breast had slumbered,
In moonbeams’ silver veil did lie
On poppy-bed by waves unnumbered,
To angels’ sweetest lullaby.
Now stand they fresh as early morning,
In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning.
One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”
The stork looks round quite loftily,
And straightway to the youngsters striding,
He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”
The boy then answers, “I would try it,So on thy back pray let me sit!On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,But be not ugly—gently flit!”And up on snowy plumage springing,A shower of down around him flinging,Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou,Wilt thou not also travel nowAnd be a child to some good mother?”But no—too timid, shy, this other.
The boy then answers, “I would try it,
So on thy back pray let me sit!
On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,
But be not ugly—gently flit!”
And up on snowy plumage springing,
A shower of down around him flinging,
Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou,
Wilt thou not also travel now
And be a child to some good mother?”
But no—too timid, shy, this other.
They started off. The pleasure craving,So free and wild on stork he flew,And to his sister farewell waving,Until at last was lost to view.And she whose fear her trip prevented,Now wished to be along, repented.She felt so lonely, was not glad,And when next year the stork she had,Who late and early came and started,Her wish to ride next time imparted.
They started off. The pleasure craving,
So free and wild on stork he flew,
And to his sister farewell waving,
Until at last was lost to view.
And she whose fear her trip prevented,
Now wished to be along, repented.
She felt so lonely, was not glad,
And when next year the stork she had,
Who late and early came and started,
Her wish to ride next time imparted.
He answered, “Come then, naught detaining!’Twas stupid to refuse last year;Not now the same good mother gainingAs he, the boy thou held so dear,For she beneath the turf is sleeping;But come, my little dove, now keepingMost careful hold around my neck,And scream not till our course we check!”And round his neck her arms she twineth,And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth.
He answered, “Come then, naught detaining!
’Twas stupid to refuse last year;
Not now the same good mother gaining
As he, the boy thou held so dear,
For she beneath the turf is sleeping;
But come, my little dove, now keeping
Most careful hold around my neck,
And scream not till our course we check!”
And round his neck her arms she twineth,
And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth.
On earth they grew up well protected,The boy to manhood had attained,A beauteous maiden, she, perfected,When first they met, as seemed ordained.Were early memories, reviving,To draw them soul to soul now striving?Was it the roguish stork, oh say,That thus together brought their way?I think that fate great fondness bore them,When choosing different mothers for them.
On earth they grew up well protected,
The boy to manhood had attained,
A beauteous maiden, she, perfected,
When first they met, as seemed ordained.
Were early memories, reviving,
To draw them soul to soul now striving?
Was it the roguish stork, oh say,
That thus together brought their way?
I think that fate great fondness bore them,
When choosing different mothers for them.
But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly,The woodland home in which they dwell!The cause of it I know not rightlyWhy storks just there should thrive so well,Andoneespecially, who hoversOn roof which inner chamber covers,And goes and flaps with all his mightSo crimson-booted, silver-white,And best she worked, the mother hinted,When he had sticks and straws unstinted.
But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly,
The woodland home in which they dwell!
The cause of it I know not rightly
Why storks just there should thrive so well,
Andoneespecially, who hovers
On roof which inner chamber covers,
And goes and flaps with all his might
So crimson-booted, silver-white,
And best she worked, the mother hinted,
When he had sticks and straws unstinted.
Each fall he goes, the habit keeping,But seen each spring again on roof,From there o’er house and garden peeping;And can I judge, or take as proofThe children I have seen there playing,Full often has the stork been strayingTo that fair poppy-covered isle,And now brings lass with winsome smile,And now a lovely boy, a treasure;This must afford him constant pleasure.
Each fall he goes, the habit keeping,
But seen each spring again on roof,
From there o’er house and garden peeping;
And can I judge, or take as proof
The children I have seen there playing,
Full often has the stork been straying
To that fair poppy-covered isle,
And now brings lass with winsome smile,
And now a lovely boy, a treasure;
This must afford him constant pleasure.
As pedagogue he struts hereafter,And trousers of the boys he pecksWith bill, rewarded then with laughter,If naughtiness or prank detects;But yet for their protection striving,And serpents from the garden driving,And patiently will he complyWhen “Long-legs, come!” the children cry.Each eve from thatch so closely heeding,If they the psalms are nicely reading.
As pedagogue he struts hereafter,
And trousers of the boys he pecks
With bill, rewarded then with laughter,
If naughtiness or prank detects;
But yet for their protection striving,
And serpents from the garden driving,
And patiently will he comply
When “Long-legs, come!” the children cry.
Each eve from thatch so closely heeding,
If they the psalms are nicely reading.