Pilgrimage of the Soul After Death, The.

O ROSEBUSH, O rosebush,
Thou art evil tempered!
Why hast thou tarried
And not budded
Since yester-morning
Until this morning?
It was bitter enough to watch,
How they became separated,
The soul from the body.
Going away from the beautiful world,
From the world with the sun shining,
From the blowing wind,
From the flowing waters.
O rosebush, why hast thou hastened not to bud?
I have budded quickly,
For my time also has come,
To go away like thee,
To travel to the setting of the sun,
Where the sun is hiding,
Where the flowers dwell
With all their sisters,
And where the flower of the sun
Sits at the gate of Paradise
To judge the flowers,
Where they have left their scent.
In the evening the rain did fall.
In the night the sky cleared up.
In the dawn the dew has fallen,
And the scent has gone astray.
The soul divided from the body,
Full of grief and sorrow,
Journeys far away.
It reaches the sea.
The sea is raging furiously.
It comes howling and foaming,
Frightening the whole world.
The wave rose up high,
To swallow the world.
It brings in its sweep blackberry trees, elder-trees,
Pines torn from the roots.
On the border of the sea,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The way across the waters,
The soul stood praying to the pine.
O pine,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch, oh stretch
Thy boughs,
That I may lay hold of them,
And thus pass across
That wide sea
Which divides me from the world.
I may not stretch my boughs
For thee to lay hold of them,
And to pass across by them,
For on my crest a red hawk has hatched its young,
With a cursed heart
And a proud eye.
Ere thou art aware,
The young will see thee.
They will whistle,
And frighten thee,
And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath,
And be engulfed there.
Let it be so!
The sea was raging furiously.
It came howling and storming,
Frightening the whole world.
The wave rose,
To swallow the world,
And brought in its sweep,
Blackberry trees,
Elder trees,
Pines torn from their roots.
On the shore of the seas,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The passage across the water,
The soul stood praying to the pine:
O pine tree,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch, I pray thee,
Thy trunk,
That I may pass across the seas
Which separate one world from the other.
I may not stretch my trunk
For thee to pass,
For in it the barking otter has laid her young,
Which lie in wait for men.
Before thou art ware,
The young ones will find thee.
They will bark at thee,
And frighten thee,
And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath,
And be engulfed by it.
Let it be so!
The sea was raging furiously.
It came howling and foaming,
Frightening the whole world.
The waves rose high up to swallow the world.
It brought in its sweep,
Blackberry trees,
Elder trees,
Pine trees torn from the roots.
On the shore of the sea,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The passage across the waters,
The soul stood praying.
O pine tree,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch thy roots,
That I may lay hold of them,
And pass across the seas
To the other part,
From which the sea separates me.
I may not stretch my roots
For thee to lay hold of them,
To pass across,
For in it the yellow dragon has hatched its young,
And they are starving.
Ere thou art aware,
They will discover thee,
And they will hiss.
Thou wilt be frightened,
And art sure to drop into the sea,
Which will engulf thee.
Let it be so.
And now, pine tree,
Pine tree,
Long enough have I prayed of thee,
But I have a brother,
A fine shepherd.
He has a small axe,
And he has two cousins,
Two strong boys.
They will come and cut thee down,
And throw thee down.
The carpenters will come,
And cut thee to measure,
And they will make out of thee
A bridge over the sea,
To give peace to all,
For the souls to have a passage,
The tried souls,
That journey on the way to Paradise.
The pine tree considered,
It stretched out its boughs,
And the soul passed across the nameless sea,
To go where its desire carried it,
To the other world.
Pass on, O soul;
Pass on unharmed,
Until thou hast gained in mercy
The seven heavy toll-houses.
Then go on straight, O dear soul,
Until thou reachest a place
Where the road divides.
Stop there and consider
Which road to take,
Until thou seest
A tall acacia tree,
Bent and with broad leaves.
Take good care
Not to turn to the left,
For it is the narrow way—
Narrow and a blind alley,
Watered with tears.
And there are also fields badly ploughed,
And covered with briars and thistle.
There dwells the old fay,
Who takes thy passport out of thy hand.
But turn to the right.
Thy own desire leads thee,
For there thou shalt find
Delightful fields,
With choice flowers,
Fields well tilled, sown with flowers.
Thou wilt pick flowers,
And the longing for this world will vanish.
Take further good care,
For thou shalt find
In two beds,
Only one flower in each,
Flower close upon the ground
Not touched by the wind;
Flower in the shade
Never seen by the sun.
Pick them,
For these are the flowers of Paradise.
Journey on,
Until thou reachest that apple tree
Which belongs to St. Peter.
It is a high and mighty tree,
And somewhat bent
On its side.
The top reaches the heavens.
The sides go down to the seas.
The top is full of bloom,
And the boughs are full of fruit;
And down at the roots trickles a gentle fountain.
There sits St. Mary.
May her mercy be with us!
Whoever passes by
She takes pity on them,
And gives them all to drink,
And guides them into the right path.
The soul drinks of the water,
And forgets this world.
Go on thy journey
Until thou reachest the noble willow tree
Covered with bloom.
But it is not a noble willow covered with bloom.
It is St. Mary
In a beautiful garment,
A garment of silk.
She sits at a table,
Adorned with flowers.
There she sits and writes—
She the holy Mary—
The dead and the living.
And she writes down the fate of each of them.
Pray to her
To take the page of the living.
Perchance she will have compassion on thee,
And will write thee among the living.
But she will not have pity on thee,
And will not write thee among the living,
For her sheet is full up,
And she has lost her pen.
Pray her, however, very much
That she take thee with her into the Paradise,
If thou hast not prayed,
When the call has reached thee
In thine own village.
Go then further
Upon beaten tracks, until thou comest
To the very gate of Paradise,
Where there stands the flower of the sun.
There stop.
There take shelter,
And wait patiently
The hour of quickening,
For it is sure to come,
And thou wilt return,
When the stags will draw the plough,
And the hinds will scatter the seeds.
O earth,
From this day on
Be thou my father.
Do not hurry
To eat me up,
For I am giving thee now,
Without ever taking them back,
My shoulders in thy arms,
And my face under thy green sward.