Henrik Ibsen: The miner

Henrik Ibsen

(1828-1906)

The miner

 

Beetling rock, with roar and smoke

Break before my hammer-stroke!

Deeper I must thrust and lower

Till I hear the ring of ore.

 

From the mountain’s unplumbed night,

Deep amid the gold-veins bright,

Diamonds lure me, rubies beckon,

Treasure-hoard that none may reckon.

 

There is peace within the deep–

Peace and immemorial sleep;

Heavy hammer, burst as bidden,

To the heart-nook of the hidden!

 

Once I, too, a careless lad,

Under starry heavens was glad,

Trod the primrose paths of summer,

Child-like knew not care nor cummer.

 

But I lost the sense of light

In the poring womb of night;

Woodland songs, when earth rejoiced her,

Breathed not down my hollow cloister.

 

Fondly did I cry, when first

Into the dark place I burst:

“Answer spirits of the middle

Earth, my life’s unending riddle!–“

 

Still the spirits of the deep

Unrevealed their answer keep;

Still no beam from out the gloomy

Cavern rises to illume me.

 

Have I erred? Does this way lead

Not to clarity indeed?

If above I seek to find it,

By the glare my eyes are blinded.

 

Downward, then! the depths are best;

There is immemorial rest.

Heavy hammer burst as bidden

To the heart-nook of the hidden!–

 

Hammer-blow on hammer-blow

Till the lamp of life is low.

Not a ray of hope’s fore-warning;

Not a glimmer of the morning.

 

Translation Fydell Edmund Garrett. New York, 1912.

Henrik Ibsen poetry

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