Such was the wail on Sotaskär !
When the day kindled, he was there,
Nor turned away at fall of eve,
But lingered still to watch and grieve.
Dead on that shore one morn he sat,
With folded hands, as if in prayer,
On the pale cheek tears resting, that
Were stiffened by the frosty air,
And on the grave wherein she slept
His eyes, though glazed in death, he kept.
Such was the saga that I heard.
How deep, how tenderly it stirred !
Full thirty winters since have strewn
Their snows ; my heart preserves it still ;
For childhood's fancies sharply drawn,
With outline clear, are graven well
Upon the poet's soul ; there they, —
As in King Heimer's harp once lay