C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Adam and his Mother
By Frederik Paludan-Müller (1809–1876)
I
She sits, and fondles him with tender hand,
Her gaze revealing all a mother’s care,
And all a mother’s love,—the twofold band
That, aye unbroken, every wrench can bear,
Until the invalid, at length unmanned
By shame and sorrow, yet supremely blest,
Sank, as in boyhood, on that sacred breast.
To solve the secret,—for her watchful eye
Each step of his career had closely heeded,
And through his letters clearly could descry,
Veiled though they were, the dangers he should fly;
So, by affection’s wings upborne she speeded
From the last rites beside a father’s grave,
Her darling’s life and soul alike to save.
“Spend not thy strength in further words, for rest
Is what thou lackest—so sleep on a while.”
She smoothed his pillow while she spoke, and pressed
Her lips on his in the old childish style,—
Then left him to fulfill her sweet behest,
And take his way through Dreamland’s mazes, folden
In clouds no longer black, but rosy-golden.
Destruction’s brink, experience must have taught thee,
When Providence from such dread peril caught thee,
How sweet a thing existence is; how dear
The life to which that friendly arm has brought thee
Back from the verge of death;—I need not fear
But thou wilt know the blessedness that lapped
Our hero’s spirit, thus in slumber wrapped.
The fairest fruit of time, when from its grave—
Where earthly elements their booty crave—
The new-born soul once more has upward hasted
To heaven, where its wings so worn and wasted
Fresh in immortal life and beauty wave;
When, bird-like, soaring on replumaged pinions,
It suns itself again in God’s dominions.
After earth’s midnight, what a glorious morn!
After the agonizing aspiration
Breathed for deliverance, lo! the spirit borne
Above its prison-house to contemplation
Of all the former life it led forlorn!
How poor each earthly pleasure in our eyes,
Contrasted with the new-found Paradise!
Now into Adam’s heart, as by degrees
It gathered something of the ancient ease,
While from the Tree of Life that o’er him bended—
Bough fair as those the eye of boyhood sees
Ere dimmed by manhood’s scales—the fruit extended
Within his grasp he plucked, and found it give
New vigor to his soul, new power to live.
And follow with his gaze along the sky
The clouds that o’er its azure chanced to flit,
Or on the street would mark the passer-by.
The world lay fresh before him, and from it
He drew enjoyment, as in infancy;
If but at night a neighbor’s lamp were gleaming,
With childlike interest he watched it beaming.
Than it to him had ever been before;
Men, as of old, were enemies no more,
But taught by love, he saw in each a brother;
Like music from some far celestial shore
Thrilled through his soul the accents of his mother;
Till at their tones the spectres of the past
Fell back, and melted in thin air at last.
Glance harmless by when her embrace was round him,
And that sweet voice of hers would fondly steal
Into his soul, and break the spell that bound him:
So, step by step, the state in which she found him
Changed for the better; he began to feel,
To speak, to act anew, and from their tomb
Youth’s blasted hopes commenced again to bloom.
They paced the floor, and then the son confessed
Old sins and errors, while the mother pressed
Kind lessons home to him in accents warm.
She plied religion, not to strike alarm
Into his heart, but rather yield him rest;
And only strove to gently heal the spirit
Too long in strange and sickly torpor buried.
Before the harpsichord she sat, and swept
Its keys to songs whose spirit-echoes kept
The listener fettered to the player’s side;
Or else their voices would accordant glide
Into sweet childlike duets, strains that wept
And smiled by turns through all their varied plan,—
So thus one night the twofold music ran:—
And thy joys to others offer;
Fairer flowers than thou canst proffer
Blossom now within my heart.
All thy roses, beauty-molded,
When I plucked them, faded fast,
And the thorn each leaf enfolded
Into me in torture passed.
In its icy grasp I shivered;
Aspen-like I bent and quivered
When I heard its tempests roll.
Then to dust in anguish smitten
Sank the brow I bore so high,—
On it branded, lightning-written,
That dread sentence, “Thou must die.”
As the spring-blooms earth are covering,
While the joyous birds are hovering
In the odor-laden air.
At the moment they were praising
All that richest life of May,
I my soul was also raising
From the dust in which it lay.
A branch dissevered from the bole,
And tossed aside to perish;
It is the spirit’s vital breath,
In sun and storm, in life and death,
All-clasping love to cherish.
I saw them, when they wandered home,
Construct their cells in union;
The ants beneath the hillocks, too,
Are bound by harmony as true,
And labor in communion.
The stars fulfill eternal law
Accordant with each other;
Not for themselves alone they shine,
But every orb by rule divine
Irradiates his brother.
To God and man thy spirit bind
In earthly joy and sorrow;
Then on His people here below
Will burst ere long in golden glow
His own celestial morrow!
Each blade of grass, each stately tree,
Alike for dew is calling;
No freshness fills the summer air,
No blessed influence is there,
Without the dew-bath falling.
Until the azure sky at last
In darkness is enshrouded;
Then breaks the tempest in its force,
And lightnings take their lurid course
Athwart the zenith clouded.
Thou canst alone its power renew,
And free it from its sadness;
Upwafted by our souls on high,
And homewards sent with God’s reply,
That breathes celestial gladness.
So soon succeeded by the dearth
Of all that cheers and blesses;
Drenched with the dew that heaven bestows,
Will bloom and blossom like a rose
The spirit’s wildernesses.
Oft our hopes are doomed to die in sorrow,
Oft our seed-time knows no harvest-morrow,
What the worm has spared the storms destroy;
Vainly looking earthward for assistance,
Man drags on the burden of existence,
Left—how early!—by his dream of joy.
Skyward lift the eyes that droop and languish;
God alone gives consolation birth;
Deep in him the well of life is streaming,
Well of blessedness, forever teeming,
Vast enough for heaven and for earth.
When the fullness of the Lord transcendent
Pours itself in rivers all abroad;
Then shall every fount of joy be springing,
Every soul be hallelujahs singing,
High and lowly, bathed alike in God!