The Delights Of Rungsted. An Ode

You shadows refreshing,
You darkness from roses now stealing;
Where busily nesting
The songstress her home is revealing –,
Where streams whose carousing
Now lulls, now is rousing
The Muses’ best darling, the sentient bard,
With murmurings close to the heart –

Where cattle are lowing,
At woodland-sons’ fleet gallivanting,
And breathe hard at knowing
The plenty in which they are panting –
Where reapers are singing,
Midst golden stacks swinging,
And count out their treasure and let cries resound
To him who their hope now has crowned.

Where, skittishly playing,
Waves wash o’er the roamer, who quick-eyed
First finds his gaze straying
At Helsinge’s grey-shaded hillside
Then wond’ringly hastens
Through forests of masts and
Inspects, then makes out foreign flags straight away,
Forgetting the fast-waning day. –

Where balm of the lonely,
Sweet slumber so gently relieving,
Louise oft solely
Could help one forget the heart’s grieving –
Where joys offer home, a
Repose for the roamer,
Where Rungsted encloses delights pure and chaste:
There did the muse fill my breast.

Where pain and affliction,
With joy found your imprint, Oh High One,
The pure heart’s depiction
By every compassionate eye won –
Where friendship adds worth to
The strictest of virtues;
There did my song grow; and the forest in awe
Re-echoed the Great Maker’s law.

I saw your thrones gleam too,
Almighty! – my gaze all aquiver –
But tones divine passed through
The strings with each shiver –
Each leaf where I sighted
The High One ignited
My soul – and exulted at which my song swelled! –
The mighty sound could not be quelled! –

Oh all the Worlds’ Father! –
So sang I – You Strong One! – You Wise One!
God! Whom myriads are
Now praising as do heaven’s prized ones!
See, how dust can carry
Your plenty, your glory,
Your goodness, oh Father! – so sang I – and joy
My lips’ quaking sound did employ. –

O poet most blissful,
That gladness bade come to his dwelling;
To duties most cheerful,
To freedom, though virtues compelling! –
All cherubs while winging
His bold voice hear ringing,
And heavens are gathered around him; and joy
Unfolds in man’s breast, ne’er to cloy.

But you, you alone drew
From anguish such joy beyond measure
Say! – has my muse power to
Unfold in your heart greatest pleasure?
O sweet friend, recite me! –
Can song’s goddess lightly
With soft-melting notes the lap then reward
That me such delight did afford? –
(Contributed by daniel on Thursday, March 31st, 2011)
See All Poetry


Danish Literature

Scandinavian Literature

Nordic Literature

European Literature