AXEL AND MARIA - ESAIAS TEGNÉR

Axel and Maria

by Esaias Tegnér

(Abridged version, without the digressions)

Translated by Arthur Dobrée, British consul in Gothenburg, 
in 1866.

(Dedication by the translator to the author)

Ej Döden stora män ifrån oss tar, 
Blott hyddan gömmer han för våra sinnen,
Ty deras själar hos oss dröja qvar
I snillets alster och i bragders minnen:

TEGNÉR, ej död, men än och alltid ung
För alla hjertan som det Sköna ära,
Inför Din thron, Du Svenska skalders Kung,
Jag vågar denna ringa hyllning bära!

The olden times are dear to me,

King Charles' times, now long departed,

For both as peace of mind lighthearted,

And brave were they as Victory.

Hound verge of Northland's skies is glowing

A reflex, still their lustre showing,

And mighty Shapes in mantles blue,

With yellow belts, amidst the hue

Of ev'ning, yet are oft seen flitting.

I look to you with awe befitting,

Ye Hero-Shades from better lands,

With mail of buff and pond'rous brands!

The mighty King lay camp'd at Bender. 
Wars did his countries desert render, 
Dimm'd was his fame, of late so bright. 
His people, like a wounded knight, 
The chill of death already feeling, 
Behind their shield still fought on kneeling, 
And Hope, abandon'd by the rest, 
Dwelt but in his undaunted breast.

One even' he to Axel handed

A missive. "Axel" — he commanded —

„Ride now apace by night and day,

And make with this in haste thy way

To Sweden: nor when landed tarry,

But safely to the Council carry.

Start off this night, — God speed with thee,

And greet the olden cliffs from me!" —

Young Axel loved to ride. The writing

Rejoiced he took, and stitch'd it in

Within his belt. At Holofzin

His father near the King fell fighting,

And thus bereft, the son of arms

Grew up in camps midst war's alarms.

His was a graceful form, as nourish

At times our Northern regions yet,

Fresh as a rose, but stately set

As pines in Swedish soil that flourish, 

Like heaven's vault on cloudless day

Clear was his brow and nobly rounded,

And truth, and honesty unbounded

In ev'ry feature written lay.

His beaming eye proclaim'd the tiding

That upwards, to the Source of Light,

T'was framed to raise its glances bright

With trust unfeign'd and hope confiding,
And without fear to cast them down

On him, round whom but shadows frown. —

In Charles' own band he was instated

Midst those in soul to him related:

Their number — small the company —

To sev'n, like Charleswain's stars amounted,

Or nine at most, like Muses counted

And hardy was their choice, tho' free.

With sword and flame their mission proving,

A christen'd race of Vikings bold,

They liken'd those that went of old

In prows o'er darkblue billows roving.

Of couch they never stood in need,

But on the earth their mantle spreading,

Nor Northern storms nor snowdrifts dreading,

Slept sweetly as on flow'ry mead.

Their grasp a horseshoe bent together,

And ne'er thou'dst see, in bitt'rest weather,

Them round the hearthflame sparkling bright;

They loved of cannonballs the heating,

As red as setting sun retreating

In blood, before a wintry night.

Their rule in battle was that never

To less than sev'n might one give way,

Still fronting them with breast at bay,

For none should see their back turn'd ever.

And lastly there was this command,

Severe, of all perchance severest:

No maiden must their heart hold dearest,

Till Charles himself bestowed his hand.

How bright two heav'n-blue eyes were glancing,

How smiled two rosy lips entrancing,

How high the swans on bosom fair

Swam o'er their lake — another pair, —

They must not gaze — else flee affrighted:

For to their swords their troth was plighted.

Young Axel saddles gay his steed

And night and day rides on with speed.

Thus Ukraine's borders he was nearing,

When lo! on ev'ry side appearing,

Gleam'd lance and sword the forest thro'.

The glitt'ring ring they quickly drew

Around. „Thou bearest news from Bender,

Alight, the scroll to me surrender,

Obey or die!" A swordcut bold

His plain, his Swedish answer told,

And sudden taught more humble pleading,

Bows to the ground the speaker bleeding.

His back against an oak as stay,

The warrior now pursues his play.

Where-e'er the heavy falchion rushes,

A knee there bends, and blood there gushes,

And bravely he his vow did hold;

Not one to sev'n, t'were easy ended,

But one to twenty be contended:

He battled like Rolf Krake of old.

No longer now on hope relying,

He sought but fellowship in dying;

And many wound, in whispers fell,

With purple lips his hour doth tell,

And round his heart the blood stops flowing,

And faint the hiltbound hand is growing:

His vision darkens. Spent his strength,

He in the long Night sinks at length.

Hurrah! rings thro' the forest lusty,
And falcon dashing, staghound trusty,

Their prey pursue. A party gay

Of hunters canter up this way.

In front, on tiger'd steed appearing,

With habit green, with rosy hue,

Like rushing whirlwind onwards flew

A maiden, fair as daybeam peering.

The robberband affrighted flies,

But at the slain her courser shies,

And with a bound she's now descending.

There lay he, as an oak might fall

In woody dell o'er saplings small,

When Northern storms their rage are spending.

How fair he lay there in his blood!

And bending anxious o'er him stood

Maria, ancient mem'ries waking

Of Latmos, when the heav'ns forsaking,

Diana, distant from the chase,

Bent o'er Endymion's slumb'ring face.

No fairer youth her heart inspired,

Than now the huntress here admired.

Within his shatter'd breast is found

A spark of life, tho' well nigh flitted,
And on a litter, quickly knitted
Of leafy boughs from trees around,

They gently bear his form halfdying

To her abode, not distant lying.

Beside his pillow'd head she staid,

Her grief with tender pity mixing,

And on his pallid features fixing

A glance, a kingdom had repaid.

E'en thus in Grecian grove stands blooming,

— Fair land, where darkness now is looming —

A rose in wildborn loveliness,

Near statue prone of Hercules.

At length the deathlike trance is waning,

He looks around, his voice regaining.

But ah! his eye, before so mild,

Now fixedly it stares, and wild.

„ Where am I? maid, what dost thou by me?

No woman's glances e'er must eye me.

King Charles owns me. No tear of thine

Must ever fall in wound of mine.

Midst stars above abides my father,

He frons, my vow he heard full well.

And yet, how sweet th'enchantress fell!

How tempting! Satan, flee me rather!

My belt, my scroll, — where hast thou placed?

King Charles' own hand the missive traced.

Good is my father's brand for smiting,

On Muscovites the keenest biting.

Bight merry seem'd the fray to me,

Had but the King been there to see:

They fell like ripe ears to the sickle!

Methought my own lifesblood did trickle.

And now to Stockholm will I take

The scroll, my honor is at stake.

Up! moments dear I must be saving."
Thus feverstricken he is raving,

And pale, the friend of battle dread

Sinks down again on peaceful bed.

And Life and Death were both contesting

For victory; Life gain'd at last,

And danger by degrees fled past,

And Axel's gaze could now be resting

With sober'd glance, tho' faint and dim,

Upon the angel watching him.

She was not like the beauties sighing

Of idyls old, for ever dying

Of languor deep in rural spots,

With locks like e'en the sun's own shining,

And cheeks like pallid violets pining,

And eyes like blue forget-me-nots.

She was an Eastern child: her flowing,

Her raven locks hung richly growing,

Like midnight round a rosebed laid;

And Joy's, the only trueborn vigor

Crown'd proud her brow, like Vict'ry's figure

Upon the shield-maid's tomb display'd.

Fresh was her hue, as painters render

Aurora's, in a wreath of splendor.

In form she vied with Oread,

Her footsteps dancing fell and glad,

And high upon her bosom flowing

The waves of youth and health arose:

A frame of lily and of rose,

A soul of fire intensely glowing,

A southern summer-sky, replete

With golden rays and fragrance sweet.

Her dark eye beam'd with fires contending

Of earthly and ethereal climes:

Jove's eagle she would match at times,

Its glances proud from heaven sending;
At times the doves, that thro' the sky

With Aphrodite's cloud-car fly.

O Axel! soon thy pains are wearing

Away, the scars alone remain;

Thy breast outside is heal'd again,

But ah! thy heart, how is it faring?

Let not thy gaze so fondly rest

On yon kind hand, thy wounds that dress'd;

That marble hand, with taper finger,

Within thine own it must not linger.

More dang'rous t'is to thee by far,

Than in the strife last year at Bender,

Hard Ottman's hands, that bade surrender

With pistol and with scimitar.

Those ruddy lips, like freshborn roses,

Whose ev'ry parting but discloses

Of soothing hope a fairy-song:

T'were better in thine ear were sounding

Again Czar Peter's thunders, bounding

The field of Pultava along.

And when in summ'ry warmth thou farther

Thy steps would'st try, still pale and wan,

Then, Axel, lean as stay upon

Thy sword, and not that round arm rather,

Prepared at Cupid's own behest

As pillow where his head to rest!

T'was ev'ning. The departed day

Upon its western couch lay dreaming,

And stars set out, in silence beaming,

Like Egypt's priests, upon their way.

And Earth stood there with bliss o'ergushing

In starlit eve, as when with wreath

In sable locks, a bride beneath

The pall, both smiling stands and blushing.

From day's warm sports now seeking rest,

The laughing najad was reclining,

And sunset's crimson hue lay shining,

A gorgeous rose, upon her breast.

Each little Love-god, that was biding

In fetters bound, while sun held sway,

With bow and arrow now away

On moonbeams thro' the grove was riding,

That festal arch of deephued green,

Where lately Spring had enter'd in.

Of nightingale in oak-copse singing,

The music thro' the vale was ringing,

In tender, soft, and pure a strain,

Like some sweet stanza of Franzen.

Twas as if Nature in her bower,

Proclaim'd this as her past'ral hour,

So full of life, tho' nothing stirr'd,

Her beating heart thou could'st have heard. —

With souls by happiness elated,

The youthful twain together range:

And e'en as bridepair rings exchange,
So childhood's mem'ries each related.

Of all the happy days he told,

E'er from his mother's roof of old,

From ruddy, pinebuilt cot he parted,

'Midst firtrees far on Northern strand,

And of his well-loved fatherland,

And sisters dear, now all departed.

He told, how he would ofttimes long

When ancient, deeptoned battlesong,

And leathern tomes of Saga-story

First roused his love for deeds of glory,

And how full oft in nightly dream,

A steel-clad warrior he would seem

On twelve-feet-lofty warsteed Grane,

And, e'en like Sigurd Fofnisbane,

Thro' flames of Vafur onwards strove

To Saga's Maid, whose castle shining

On distant cliff was seen reclining

Ill moonlight, 'midst a laurel-grove.

Too narrow grew his breast, his chamber,

Out to the woods he'd flee, and clamber

In boyhood's unrestrain'd delight,

Up to the ern on pinetree's height,

And rock there in the Northstorm blowing;

It cools the cheek, the bosom glowing.

Ah! happy in the car to fly

Of yonder clouds that hurry by,

And far o'er distant waters wander,

To mingle with the fair world yonder,

Where Vict'ry beckons, and Renown

Waits with her wreath the brave to crown,

And where King Charles — he numbers barely

Some seven summers more than thou —

Reaps sceptres with his falchion now

And — gives away at once so fairly!

„My mother could at fifteen years
Hold me no more; I clasp'd with tears

Her neck, my steps to Poland turning.

Since then in camps has sped my life,

Like watchfire on the field of strife

'Midst steel and cannon steadfast burning.

But when at times my glances met

The birds, that fed their young and courted,

Or infant, as it lay and sported

Beside some flow'ry rivulet;

Then empty warfare's thunder sounded,

And in my soul fast made their way

Fair scenes of peace, where children gay,

Green woods, and golden fields abounded.

And at a peaceful cottage-door

A maiden stood, with sunset stealing

Her features o'er, the same revealing

I'd seen at times in dreams before.

Of late these visions crowding o'er me,
In ceaseless whirl my spirit fill:
I close mine eyes, yet see them still

Full clear and life-like e'er before me,

And in the midst the maid I see,

The image is of thee, Marie!" —

Confused made answer thus Maria:
„— Yet happy man his lot must find!

No irksome chains the strong one bind,

He freedom doth by birth acquire,

And danger's 'lurement, glory bright,

And Earth and Heav'n are his by right.

But woman's fate, t'is e'er intended

To be to man's thro' life appended,

The bandage on his wounds to lie,
remember'd, when they're heal'd, no longer:

The offring she, while he the stronger,

The splendid flame, soars to the sky. —

My father fell, the Czar defending,
My mother's image scarce I knew,

And wild the desert's daughter grew

Within these halls, where caitiffs bending

To lordly whims, with meekness base,

Pay homage to their own disgrace.

A noble soul must turn dejected

From souls thus willingly subjected.

Did'st on the boundless plain thou see

Our native steeds, the fair, the free?

Like hinds so fleet, like heroes daring,

They're subject to no lord's command;

With pointed ear they windwards stand

And scent th'alarm the breeze is bearing,

And sudden in a dust-cloud high

Away across the plains they fly,

In selfsought wars unshod contending,

And life 'midst joys and suffring spending.

„Ye children of the desert free,

How glad, how blest your life must be!

Thus would I cry, and bid them tarry

When-e'er my neighing Tartar-steed?

A bridled slave, with docile speed

Me to his brethren free would carry;

But they unheeding pass'd us twain,

And gazed upon us with disdain.

My freeborn soul soon loathed the tameness

Of this lone castle's ceaseless sameness;

And unto war myself I've train'd

'Gainst wolfs, 'gainst vulture's savage races,

And oft bought from the bear's embraces

A life, that then some value gain'd.

But Nature! we in vain endeavour

To conquer thee: in cot, on throne,

As sempstress or as amazon,

Thy woman, woman still is ever,

A vine that fades, if left forlorn,

A being, that its halfpart misses:

In sharing, she feels all her blisses,

And twin her pleasures all are born.

Across my throbbing side is stealing

A restless and yet happy feeling,

A longing, I can scarce explain,

So full of joy, 'spite all its pain.

No bounds, no goal knows its dominion;

T'is e'en as if on airy pinion

I far o'er dust of earth did fly,

To stars, where Gods abide on high;

And then as if again descending,

O'er you, ye dear ones, I were bending,

Ye trees, that by my side have grown,

Thou hillock with thy flow'ry crown,

Thou rill, in loving murmurs fleeing!

Tho' erst oft hearing you, oft seeing,

TVas but as statue sees, unmoved, —
Ne'er, ne'er till now I felt I loved.

Tis t'wards myself my love is alter'd,

More pure, more high I feel it soar,

E'er since"... A blush came flitting o'er

The maiden's cheeks, as here she falter'd,

And in a sigh, tho' half repress'd,

The untold meaning was express'd. —

And nightingale in grove sings hiding,

And moon 'neath cloud o'erhears their bliss;

And in a long, an endless kiss,

As warm as Life, as Death abiding,

United now their souls combine

In one blest harmony divine.

On altar lit, two flames thus even

Embrace each other; they unite

In one, that beams with brighter light

And reaches nearer unto heaven.

For them the world had pass'd away

And Time upon its flight did stay.

For in this mortal life each second

By Time is measured, and its space

Defined, but Death's and Love's embrace

Eternal offspring they are reckon'd.

The happy pair! Unseen the flash,

Had all the earth in smoke been scatter'd,

And had the firmament been shatter'd,

They never would have heard its crash.

Still had they stood there, aptly fitted

For Genii of North and South,

Nor ever known that mouth to mouth,

From Earth's to Heaven's bliss they'd flitted.

Back from his journey heavenward
Came Axel first. „Now, by my sword,

By northern faith, by stars that gleaming

Above our bridesmaids white are seeming,

As thro' the grove they on us shine,

Now before earth and heav'n thou'rt mine!

Oh! far, right far, from strife's intrusion

Within some friendly vale's seclusion,

The home of peace 'midst mountains high,

With thee to live, with thee to die!

But ah! a vow, a vow I've taken:

With features grim and life-forsaken,

It silent rises up and parts

With icy hand our burning hearts.

Fear not: all may be changed I've spoken,

Released must be that vow, not broken.

Now must I hence. But when next May

Bids to its feast of flowers gay,

Then hither I'll return and claim thee,

My bride, my spouse, I then may name thee.

Farewell, my soul's own half, again

Farewell! a long farewell till then!"

Away, as thus his last words greet her,

He turns, takes belt, takes sword once more,

And dauntless starts on journey o'er

The hundred countries of Czar Peter.

In forest gloom he hides by day,

But all night long he shapes his way,

Now by the firmament's bright kernel,

Our North-star, fix'd by law eternal,

Now by the Charleswain's friendly light,

The sign, that knows of no declining,

The wain, with leading-pole so shining,

And axles forged of gold so bright.

Thro' thousand perils thus he passes,

And comes, thro' midst of hostile masses,

To Malarn's regal town, where all

With wonder learn that safe he's landed,

And scroll and greeting as commanded,

Delivers in the Council-hall.

Meanwhile in halls deserted yearning,

Maria sighs her Axel's name.

She sighs on woodland's breast the same

And hill and dale its sound are learning.

„What was that vow upon him laid?

Far in his fatherland a maid,

A former love? Can more there ever

Exist than one? my heart says never.

Thou snowclad maid 'neath Northern sky,

One of us twain must surely die!

Thou little know'st South's fiery daughters:

Far, far beyond thy frozen waters,

Beyond thy snows on mountains high

I'll search thee out, for thou must die.

Yet — did not Axel early wander

From home? Nor since, his Northland yonder

He saw, and timid Love is wont

To shun the din of warfare's haunt.

Ah! brow like his no guile possesses,

Faith there and honor only dwell.

By his bright glances' light full well

I gazed into his heart's recesses,

Like daybeam peering down into

A fountain fresh and silver-blue.

Why dost thou flee then? what imposes

Thy vow? must thus this heart be crush'd?

What — but in space my voice is hush'd,

Like widow that midst tombs discloses

Her grief, like plaintive dove that flies

Without response round earth and skies.

Ah! forests rustle, waves are streaming

'Tween us, he hears not what I say.

What if I follow'd him? but nay,

That for a woman were not seeming.

A woman? who can tell? I bear

A sword, and soon a man stands there.

With danger oft I've learnt to trifle,
For life or death a dice-throw cast.

Upon my steed I'm rooted fast,

And never yet has miss'd my rifle.

That thought is sent from source divine,

Now Axel, Axel, art thou mine!

I'll search thee high as Northland trendeth,

I'll search thee far as Earth extendeth,

From vale to vale, from strand to strand,

And from thy lips that vow I'll tear me.

O warfare, on thy pinions bear me

And set me down in Axel's land!"

So said, so done. Thought and fulfilment
Are one in woman. Her habil'ment

Is quickly changed. A warrior's casque

Her raven tresses' night doth mask.

Her bosom rich in buff she laces,

In sidepouch lead and powder places,

And o'er her fair, soft shoulder's slope

A carbine hangs, Death's telescope.

The zone, in Grecian fable noted,

To flashing scim'tar is devoted,

And next she traces all around

Her lips a shade that beard supposes:

T'was e'en as if to deck two roses,

The pair in mourning-crape thou'dst bound.

With sword and belt, she e'en resembled

God Cupido himself, dissembled

To warrior, as his form on sheen

Of Klinia's son's bright shield was seen.

"Farewell to thee, thou fost'ring dwelling!
When love and peace my breast are swelling

I once again may greet thee here.

But now must I no longer tarry,
O night, spread out thy veil and carry

Me unto him my heart holds dear!" —

E'en then on seastrand's conquer'd edges,

In eye-nook of North's slumb'ring brow,

Lay Peter's city, whither now

A world sends forth its crowns as pledges.

T'was then but small. Within its bay

A newborn dragon like, it lay.

But well its kind can be detected,

As in the sand it basks its coils;

Deep in its tooth the venom boils,

Its fork'd tongue hissing is projected.

There lay equipp'd 'gainst Swedish strand

A fleet with sword and firebrand.

Marie her steps is thither bending,

And amidst arms and banners wending

Her way, stands forth and craves a post

Upon the fleet 'gainst Northland's coast.

A chieftain of the rude mass jesting

Cries, with his keen eye on her resting:

sMore dang'rous seem'st thou, stripling swain,

For Northland's maids, than for its men.

Where-e'er 'gainst them we may dispatch thee,

They never by thy beard will catch thee!

But warfare canst thou learn aright

From them: for life or death the fight

Is waged; the issue's but in heaven

To God and Holy Nick'las given!" —

Now swell the sails, darts on the keel;
In foam o'er eastern billows rushing,

And soon 'midst fires of sunset blushing,

Stand Scandia's cliffs: they stand there still

On time's and ocean's turmoil gazing,

The giantmounds of Nature's raising.

At Sotaskär th' invaders land,

To faithful hearts a wellknown strand.

Of old, there for the last time parted

Young Hjalmar from his Ing'borg fair;

And when he'd soar'd to Odin, there

The sorr'wing maid died brokenhearted,

And seated still upon the steep,

Her spirit doth the lover weep.

Thou North's Leucadia, North lets perish

Thy name, in Saga's days wellknown,

But Hjalmar's deathsong thee doth own,

And breast of Scald thee e'er shall cherish. —

But flames from cot to cot now reach,
And women fly, and children screech,

Full well they know their Bussian foemen;

And tocsinbells peal round their omen

Both night and day with ceaseless boom;

But ah! the dead they cannot waken.

"Woe unto thee, poor land forsaken,
Thy warriors dwell within the tomb!

Yet in their country's need a cluster

Of aged men and children muster

With swords, that erst on German shore

Made Gustaf Adolf s banner glorious,

And halberts, used to be victorious,

When o'er the Belt they cross'd of yore,

And here and there some arquebuses

With rusty locks and halfburnt fuses.

No more own'd then our Swedish land,

A handful mere, and ill-provided,

Yet undismay'd with mien decided,

March'd on the foe that gallant band.

But t'is not man to man he wages

The strife; wide round his stormcloud rages,

And from the cliffs his lightnings play,

"Where courage ne'er can make its way,

And unavenged from thence proceeding,

Death thro' the scanty ranks is speeding.

But now, e'en as the belted Thor

With hammer arm'd, with anger flashing,

Thus Axel o'er the field comes dashing,

Where terror reigns and flight spreads o'er,

A saviour, sent in danger's hour:

His breast is steel, his arm is power.

He calls back order. To and fro

He flies on courser white as snow.

„Stand, Swedes, close up your ranks disbanded!

King Charles hath hither me commanded,

His greeting unto you I bring,

Our cry is 'God and Charles the king'!"

"God and king Charles!" around t'is shouted:

The brave one's voice arrests the routed,

And in a moment's time the rock

That dealt out death, yields to their shock.

Then all th'infernal craters slumber,

And arms and slain the field encumber,

And blindly, but with trusty blow,

The sword pursues the flying foe,

And soon, in haste their cables clearing,

Th' affrighted bands the strand are leaving.

Like sated beast of prey, the fight

Now on the battlefield lay sleeping,

And moonbeams from on high were steeping

The scene of ravage in their light.

Beside the dark sea Axel wanders

And sighing o'er the corpses ponders.

They lie there man by man, in pairs,

Oh, what a hardclos'd clasp is their's!

Seek not the truest of embraces

In love's, where both with smiling faces

In mutual arms lie fondly bound:

Go, see upon a battleground

How in the pangs of death's caresses,

Hate to its heart a foeman presses.

Ah! love's and pleasure's wild delight

Like springtide's fitful breeze take flight,

But we remain till life is ended,

By hatred, cares, and want attended.

Thus sighs he, when a plaintive cry

Across the night comes sudden bursting:

„Oh, Axel, water! I am thirsting,

And take my farewell ere I die!"

He hears that voice, so wellknown sounding,

And onwards midst the steep craigs bounding,

He sees, against the cliffside leant, —

An unknown youth, his lifesblood spent.

But as the moon, the clouds dispelling,

Now on the pallid face in dwelling,

He shudders, and in agony

He shrieks forth: „Oh my God, t'is she!"

Alas! t'was she. Her anguish hiding,

She whispers in a voice so slight:

— „Good even', Axel, nay good night,

For death beside my heart is biding.

Ask not why thus I hither sped,

My love alone hath me misled.

Ah! when the long Night closes o'er us,

And we are standing at grave's door,

How diffrent then from times of yore

Stands life and its small cares before us,

And only love as pure as our's

"We with us take to heaven's bowers.

Thy vow to learn, I here did wander,

Now amidst stars I'll seek it yonder,

It there stands written, I shall see
As clear as they thy constancy. —

I know, t'is rashness hither drove me,

I know, how truly thou dost love me;

Oh, let my love atone for all

Thy tears, as o'er my dust they fall.

I have no brother, father, mother,

Thou wast my father, mother, brother,

Thou wast my all, — o Axel, vow

That e'en in death thou lov'st me now!

Thou swear'st: — why should I then deplore

Life's Saga hath unfolded for me

Its brightest page. Here on thy breast

May not thy maiden sink to rest?

And will not now her dust be blended

With that same soil, thou'st just defended?

See, Axel, o'er the moon doth stray

A cloud; when that has pass'd away,

Then am I dead, my spirit fleeted
Shall blest on yon far strand be seated,
And pray for thee, and from the skies

Gaze on thee with all heaven's eyes.

But on my grave by thee be cherish'd

A rose, and when 'midst snows t'is perish'd,

The sunborn child, think of thy maid

That sleeps 'neath Northern snowdrifts laid.

To bloom t'was but few days permitted; —

See, Axel, past the cloud has flitted,

Farewell, farewell!" — Once more she sigh'd,

And gently press'd his hand and died.

Then forth from floods of hell there sallied
Not Death itself, but Madness pallid,

Death's younger brother, he that stalks

With poppy-wreath round scatter'd locks,

And vacant stare by turns directed

On high, by turns towards the deep,
With leer upon distorted lip 
And tears in halfquench'd eye collected.

Its hand on Axel's brow it lays,

And e'er since then he restless strays

Around her grave, as spirit bided

Bound hidden gold in tale of yore,

And day and night is to the shore

His strange, his touching wail confided:

„Be still, be still, thou darkblue wave!
Thou must not thus the seastrand lave.

Thou dost but interrupt my dreaming;

I bear not with thy waters streaming,

The foaming ones, all tinged with gore;

Thou bringcst death unto my shore.

A youth's form here just now lay shatter'd,

I roses o'er his grave have scatter'd,

For he was like, I well know whom:

Next spring with me I lead her home.

They tell me that 'neath earthy cover

Lies hush'd my bride, and grass grows over

The faithful breast, t'is false: last night

She sat here on the rocky height.

Pale was her hue like death's complexion,

T'was but of moonbeams the reflexion,

And cold her lips, and cold her cheek,

T'was nothing but the Northwind bleak.

I "bade the loved one near me linger,

Across my brow she drew her finger,

So dark it seem'd, so heavy there:

Then all again grew bright and fair.

And distant in the East appearing,

Those days, alas! now fled, are clearing,

Those days so fair, like heaven's blue:

How blest, poor Axel, then were you!

There stood, where woodlands green are swelling, 
A castle, t'was the fair one's dwelling.
I lay there murder'd in the strife,

She with a kiss gave back my life,

She unto me, so poor, devoted

Her rich heart, ah! how warm it doated!

Now chill'd it lies by wintry frost

In wither'd bosom — all is lost!

Ye stars, above in heaven beaming,

I pray ye, quench your fiery gleaming!

I know a morning-star full good,

It sank into a sea of blood.

Still on the shore the blood is reeking,

And blood my own hand still is streaking."

Thus he laments on Sotaskär.

When daylight kindles, he is there,

When night descends, his watch he's keeping:

Incessantly he sits there weeping.

One morn he by the sea sat dead,
With hands in pray'r together laid,

And tears o'er pallid cheeks distilling,

Halfharden'd in the morn-breeze chilling;

And t'wards the grave where she lay, gazed

E'en yet the eye that death had glazed.

Thus ran the tale related for me.

How deep, how soft its spell crept o'er me!

Tho' twenty winters since have snow'd,

Still in my heart is its abode.

At times yet, when in verdant spring

The quail's melodious call doth ring,

And soars the moon from eastern surges,

As spectre from the tomb emerges,

And over hill and dale doth spread

The mournful pallor of the dead;

Then murm'ring sounds seem round me falling,

And on mine ear, the past recalling,

The wellknown tale seems still to glide

Of Axel and his Russian bride.



Long story short: 

The story takes place shortly after Czar Peter the Great had defeated the Swedish warrior king Charles XII at the Battle of Poltava. King Charles XII in Turkish exile sends Axel, a dutiful young officer, to give a letter to the Regency Council of Sweden.
Charles XII's closest officers, like the fatherless Axel, are incredibly hardy, equally masculine and can't fall in love. Moreover, they can't marry unless their king has found a queen.
As he rides through the woods in Ukraine, Axel fights off some bandits but is dangerously wounded in the chest.
Maria, a dark-haired and tomboyish maiden, who is partaking in a deer hunt nearby, scares the highwaymen away and saves the unconscious Axel, conveying him to her steppe estate, where she tends to his wounds.
When he awakens, he wishes her off at first, yet they gradually fall in love. And, when Axel is completely recovered and just a little pale, they are completely infatuated with each other.
One night, while kissing, the young lovers tell each other the stories of their lives. Axel has got a widowed mother and sisters back at home in the Swedish countryside, and he joined the army out of wanderlust, to live adventures like the heroes of legend. Maria is an orphan and an only child, and, constrained by the boredom of estate life, which does not suit her restless nature, she loves the great outdoors, being able to take on a pack of wolves or on a bear without much effort.
When Axel is fully recovered, he takes his leave of Maria to give his message to the Regency. He says that he is bound by a vow to leave her, and she understands it as a betrothal vow to a Swedish maiden. The leave-taking is warm and sad. Yet Axel promises to come back for Maria when springtime comes.
After much wandering and fleeing from the Czar's men, Axel finally gives the Regency of Sweden the letter.
Meanwhile in Ukraine, Maria grows impatient, thinking her fiancé has left her for his duty or for another girl, and she decides to look for Axel by joining the Russian Army. She crossdresses and leaves her estate for Saint Petersburg, where she enlists, and then sails across the Baltic to fight a war on the Swedish east coast.
The Russians overrun the coastline, until Axel comes to fight them in a great battle. He does not recognize Maria, who is fatally wounded.
At dusk, Axel is walking among the slain along the coast when he hears a thirsty young soldier desperately asking for water. Only then, as he gives the dying and bleeding form to drink, does he recognize Maria. They reconcile and take their leave of each other forever right before she dies of blood loss in his arms. And then, Axel is crushed.
He goes insane, and he thinks he sees Maria's spirit near her grave, as he keeps on crying and lamenting there, and he sees her spirit quite often. Now Axel is an outcast madman, and he is most likely to have left the military.
One day, they find him dead, his eyes still fixed on Maria's grave.