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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
The Swan
By Johan Ludvig Runeberg (1804–1877)
 
Translation of Eiríkr Magnússon and Edward Henry Palmer

FROM cloud with purple-sprinkled rim,
    A swan, in calm delight,
Sank down upon the river’s brim,
    And sang in June, one night.
 
Of Northlands’ beauty was his song,        5
    How glad their skies, their air;
How day forgets, the whole night long,
    To go to rest out there;
 
How shadows there, both rich and deep,
    ’Neath birch and alder fall;        10
How gold-beams o’er each inlet sweep,
    How cool the billows all;
 
How fair it is, how passing fair,
    To own there one true friend!
How faithfulness is home-bred there,        15
    And thither longs to wend!
 
When thus from wave to wave his note,
    His simple praise-song rang,
Swift fawned he on his fond mate’s throat,
    And thus, methought, he sang:—        20
 
What more? though of thy life’s short dream
    No tales the ages bring,
Yet hast thou loved on Northlands’ stream,
    And sung songs there in spring!
 
 
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