Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLD MAN'S RETURN, by JOHAN LUDVIG RUNEBERG


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLD MAN'S RETURN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Like birds of passage, after winter's day returning
Last Line: A guiltless life again.
Alternate Author Name(s): Runeberg, J. L.


LIKE birds of passage, after winter's day returning
To lake-land home and rest,
I come now unto thee, my foster-valley, yearning
For long-lost childhood's rest.

Full many a sea since then from thy dear strands has torn me,
And many a chilly year;
Full many a joy since those far-off lands have borne me,
And many a bitter tear.

Here am I back once more -- Great heaven! there stands the
dwelling
which erst my cradle bore.
The selfsame sound, bay, grove, and hilly range up swelling:
My world in days of yore.

All as before. Trees in the selfsame verdant dresses
With the same crowns are crowned;
The tracts of heaven, and all the woodland's far recess
With well-known songs resound.

There with the crowd of flower-nymphs still the wave is
playing,
As erst so light and sweet;
And from dim wooded dells I hear the echoes straying
Glad youthful tones repeat.

All as before. But my own self no more remaineth,
Glad valley! as of old;
My passion quenched long since, no flame my cheek
retaineth,
My pulse now beateth cold.

I know not how to prize the charms that thou possessest,
Thy lavish gifts of yore;
What thou through whispering brooks or though thy flowers
expressest,
I understand no more.

Dead is mine ear to harp-strings which thy gods are ringing
From out thy streamlet clear;
No more the elfin hosts, all frolicsome and singing,
Upon the meads appear.

I went so rich, so rich from thee, my cottage lowly.
So full of hopes untold;
And with me feelings, nourished in thy shadows holy,
That promised days of gold.

The memory of thy wondrous springtimes went beside me,
And of thy peaceful ways.
And thy good spirits, borne within me, seemed to guide me,
E'en from my earliest days.

And what have I brought back from yon world wide and
dreary?
A snow-encumbered head,
A heart with sorrow sickened and with falsehood weary,
And longing to be dead.

I crave no more of all that once was in my keeping.
Dear mother! but one thing:
Grant , me a grave. where still thy fountain fair is weeping,
And where thy poplars spring!

So shall I dream on, mother! to thy calm breast owing
A faithful shelter then,
And live in every flower, from mine ashes growing,
A guiltless life again.






Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net