C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Cloister in the South
By Björnstjerne Björnson (1832–1910)
Translation of William Morton Payne
“W
“A maid forlorn from the land of snow.”
“What sorrow is thine, and what thy sin?”
“The deepest sorrow the heart can know.
I have nothing done,
Yet must still endeavor,
Though my strength is none,
To wander ever.
Let me in, to seek for my pain surcease;—
I can find no peace.”
“From the land of the North, a weary way.”
“What stayed thy feet at our gate this night?”
“The chant of the nuns, for I heard them pray,
And the song gave peace
To my soul, and blessed me;
It offered release
From the grief that oppressed me.
Let me in, so if peace to give be thine,
I may make it mine.”
“Rest may I never, never know.”
“Thy father, thy lover, thou hast then lost?”
“I lost them both at a single blow,
And all I held dear
In my deepest affection,
Ay, all that was near
To my heart’s recollection.
Let me in, I am failing, I beg, I implore,
I can bear no more.”
“He was slain, and I saw the deed.”
“How was it that thou thy lover lost?”
“My father he slew, and I saw the deed.
I wept so bitterly
When he roughly would woo me,
He at last set me free,
And forbore to pursue me.
Let me in, for the horror my soul doth fill
That I love him still.”
To God’s own side.
From grief find rest
On Jesus’ breast.
Rest thy burden of sorrow
On Horeb’s height;
Like the lark, with to-morrow
Shall thy soul take flight.
No passion returning,
No terror come near thee
Where the Saviour can hear thee!
For He, if in need be
Thy storm-beaten soul,
Though it bruised as a reed be,
Shall raise it up whole.