Sweden is the lyrical. This will be otherwise only
as the northern mind, through a growing familiarity with contemporaneous
Europe, will consent to be drawn from its forest solitude into the whirl
of the motley World's Fair outside its boundaries. It is probable that
the lyrical gift will always be the true possession of the Swedish poet.
His genius is such that it needs only a beautiful moment's exaltation
(blissful, whether the experience be called joy or sorrow) to rise on
full, free wings, suddenly singing out his very inmost being. Whether
the poet makes this inmost being his subject, or quite forgets himself
in a richer and higher theme, is of little consequence.

If, again, no true lyric can express a narrow egoism, least of all could
the Swedish, in spite of the indivisible relation between nature and
man. The entire Saemunds-Edda shows us that Scandinavian poetry was
originally lyrical-didactic, as much religious as heroic. Not only in
lyrical impression, but also in lyrical contemplation and lyrical
expression, will the Swedish heroic poem still follow its earliest
trend. Yes, let us believe that this impulse will some day lead Swedish
poetry into the only path of true progress, to the point where dramatic
expression will attain perfection of artistic form. This development is
foreshadowed already in the high tragic drama, in the view of the world
taken by the old Swedish didactic poem; and in some of the songs of the
Edda, as well as in many an old folk-song and folk-play.

THE LILY OF THE VALLEY

O'er hill and dale the welcome news is flying
That summer's drawing near;
Out of my thicket cool, my cranny hidden,
Around I shyly peer.

He will not notice me, this guest resplendent,
Unseen I shall remain,
Content to live if of his banquet royal
Some glimpses I may gain.

Behold! Behold! His banquet hall's before me,
Pillared with forest trees;
Lo! as he feasts, a thousand sunbeams sparkle,
His gracious smiles are these.

Hail to thee, brilliant world! Ye heavens fretted
With clouds of silver hue!
Ye waves of mighty ocean, tossing, tossing,
Fair in my sight as new!

Far in the past (if years my life has numbered,
Ghost-like in thought they drift),
Came to me silently the truth eternal--
Joy is life's richest gift.

Thus, in return for life's abundant dower,