The Icelandic Canadian - 01.10.1942, Síða 19

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
15
Was first, well-fed, his warbling to apply,
That he might sing before gods decked the strain;
And first too was the husbandman to stain
His features, Wine’s God, with vermilion red,
And, with unpractised art, the dance he led
First, and to him from out a well-filled fold
A goat was giv’n, — a gift to be extolled —
For that he-goat, the leader of the flock,
Augmented for the man his meagre stock.
’Twas in the countryside a lad first made
A wreath of vernal blossoms and it laid
On Lares ancient. In the country, too,
The bright sheep, destined to bring trouble to
Girls gentle, on their backs bear soft fleece whence
Comes female toil, and come the wool-tasks thence,
Thence, too, the spindle and the distaff come,
Whose work is plied with pressure of the thumb;
And at Minerva’s ceaseless service sings
Some weaving-woman, while the clay-weight swings,
And clangs the loom. Desire himself, say words
Of men, was born amid the fields and herds,
And mid the mares unmastered. There first he
Practised him with his prentice bow: ah me!
How skilled his hands are now the bow to wield!
His mark no longer are the flocks afield:
He now is eager maidens’ hearts to pierce,
And master fully men in nature fierce.
Here, from the young, his riches all he takes,
There, at the threshold of wroth maid, he makes
The old say shameful things; he guides a lass,
So she with stealth her watchers prostrate pass,
And leads her in the murk her lad to meet;
She feels the path before her with her feet,
On fear suspended, and she tries to find,
With hand held out, her way in darkness blind.
Ah, wretched are they on whom grievously
The god bears down, but fortunate is he
On whom Love gently breathes his graciousness!
Come, sacred Lad, our festal board to bless,
But first aside thy arrows, prithee, lay,
And far hence put thy flaming torch away.
Chaunt ye the god who is acclaimed by all,
And with loud utt’rance for your herd him call,
Let each man call him loudly for his herd,
And for himself too with a whispered word,
Or call him even for himself aloud,
For with its din the merry-making crowd
And the curved bugle, with its Phrygian blare
Will serve to make inaudible the prayer.