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(From A Tour to Stockholm)
Translated by J. Duncombe
SPITE of the wind’s tempestuous roar, | |
| We cross the Sound to Schonen’s shore. | |
| Our host there cooked a strange repast, | |
| Delicious to a Gothland taste: | |
| He kindly urged us first to eat, | 5 |
| Sprinkled with saffron, salted meat: | |
| Then on the board at once appear | |
| Raw mutton-steaks, dried currants, beer, | |
| Sweet-scented herbs, rice pounded, wine, | |
| Cloves, and quick pepper, sifted fine: | 10 |
| The table, last, full many a pound | |
| Of ginger, butter, sugar crowned; | |
| With mustard, honey, fennel, oil, | |
| And coriander.—All the toil | |
| And skill of Hecaté could ne’er | 15 |
| In Stygian shades such cates prepare; | |
| Nor worse the drugs, if fame be true, | |
| Which unrelenting step-dames brew. | |
| Each dish untouched, we haste away, | |
| Resolved to travel night and day. | 20 |
| To Helmstadt first our car proceeds, | |
| Where, tired, we bait our dusty steeds. | |
| Hence, ordered to his native land | |
| (For such the queen’s severe command), | |
| Vossius with many a tear departs, | 25 |
| But leaves his image in our hearts. | |
| Through fir-tree forests, large and brown, | |
| We pass, to Gothlanders well known: | |
| Our thirst with proffered mead we slaked; | |
| They then brought biscuits, which, well baked, | 30 |
| With salt and cumin they prepare, | |
| And harden in the smoke and air: | |
| Your knife can no impression make; | |
| Then, in its stead, a hammer take. | |
| Smaland’s steep rocks we clamber o’er, | 35 |
| And trace Lake Vetter’s winding shore. | |
| Here, at our servant, as we passed, | |
| Unnumbered jokes and jeers were cast; | |
| While, on the coach’s summit placed, | |
| His empty head with nightcap graced, | 40 |
| He in Marot’s melodious lay | |
| King David’s psalms would sing or say; | |
| For, though composed by Claude, each note | |
| Was jargon in his raven throat. | |
| Now wild East Gothland’s bounds we gain, | 45 |
| Where beast-skins clothe each livid swain; | |
| Frost-bit their faces, coarse their fare, | |
| Caps of warm frieze the women wear; | |
| Well jolted with the rugged way, | |
| Each night in cottages we lay, | 50 |
| Which upright trunks of trees compose; | |
| Grass on the turfy covering grows, | |
| Where sheep, as on a level mead, | |
| Undaunted, unmolested, feed: | |
| The roof has peep-holes; so, ’t is said, | 55 |
| Thy temple, Terminus, was made. | |
| Within are fifty beds, where rest, | |
| On straw, wife, husband, slave, and guest. * * * * * | |
| Wide-branching pines, as hence we past, | |
| A welcome shade around us cast. | 60 |
| The night o’ertook us at a town, | |
| Named Lidcoping, to fame well known, | |
| Where first their breath the Magni drew, | |
| Johannes and Olaus too. | |
| At Norkoping, where copper-plates | 65 |
| Are forged, the steeds our driver baits. | |
| Large coins are here impressed, and threads | |
| Formed of vast length from copper shreds. | |
| To distant lands these precious wares | |
| In loaded ships the merchant bears. | 70 |
| At Nykoping, our next day’s stage, | |
| Queen Leonora, worn with age, | |
| In vain complaints her sorrow vents, | |
| And still Gustavus’ death laments. | |
| Once famed, by subterraneous fires | 75 |
| Now wasted, Telga next aspires. | |
| Each stable here reindeer contains, | |
| The denizens of northern plains; | |
| Two curling horns their lofty brow | |
| Defend; like stags their bodies show: | 80 |
| O’er ice and snow, the lake, and mead, | |
| They whirl the sledge with Eurus’ speed. | |
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