The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.1963, Síða 26

24
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
SUMMER 1963
was the .philosophy of cheer, of gentleness; his the religion of work.
He could not see how that mansion by the crystal sea would make for
happiness “unless there be fish aplenty in its glassy depths, and no com-
mon fry at that.’’ We can imagine him, propped up in pillows, a smile
investing his face, repeating Kipling’s beautiful quatrain—
“We shall rest, and faith we shall need it,
Lie down for an eon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen
Shall put us to work anew.’’
Had the beloved “Idler” lived there is little doubt that he would
have attained to starry heights in the realm of letters. Every “Leaf” and
“Letter” is laden with promise. But this could not be: and herein lies
the tragedy of his untimely death. Here was a man equipped to live
as only one in ten thousand is equipped, and this one the fell agent
singled out for his javelin. It is to rail against an incompetent
Providence, that such things have to be! The world needs just such
splendid spirits to cheer and bless—to brighten the jejune and vapid
rounds of life. Yet there is comfort in the thought that a fairer and purer
mature soul has never winged its way to the Throne of God.
I like to imagine that instead of lying down for his rest during the
allotted eon, the “Idler” is drifting in his boat before a gentle, per-
fumed breeze, anthology in hand, dreamily floating upon that sea whose
waters are the infinite, everlasting and abundant Life.
—Bogi Bjarnason
LEAF THE FIRST
The Idler Apologizes
Heard melodies are sweet,
But those unheard are sweeter.
Turning over the leaves of the “Advance” last week I was painfully
aware of the hustle and worry and busy-ness of this little communtiy of
ours. Some had married a wife, others bought a piece of ground, and
still others, not by any chance a yoke of oxen, but a chariot, in which to
race through the streets and jostle one another on the highways. And I
began to wonder whether there was really only one idler in this neigh-
borhood, and whether one enjoying that privilege should not give to
others some of the good things he is hoarding. That is why I have asked
the editor for a corner.
Fortunately Robert Louis Stevenson has long since written “An
Apology for Idlers,” and I have no desire to try to do badly what he has
done well. Jerome K. Jerome has written “Idle Thoughts of an Idle
Fellow,” and that absolves this idler from having to communicate
thoughts.—But there may still be some who have no definite idea what