Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Paths of Life
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us to turn the heavy wheels, to carry the clumsy
beams. But we shall have freedom now. The day of
freedom has come. Hear it, you waves of the Björksjö—hear
it, brothers and sisters, in marsh and fen, in
mountain, stream, and forest brook! Come, come,
rush down the Björksjö River—come with new
strength, thundering, hissing, ready to break through
the restraint of centuries, come! The bulwark of
tyranny shall fall. Death to Ekeby!” And they
came; wave after wave rushed over the fall to dash
its head against the dam, to lend its help to the
great work. Giddy with spring’s new freedom, they
came with united force and loosened stone after
stone, piece after piece of the falling breakwater.
But why do men let the wild waves rage without
resisting their onslaught? Is Ekeby dead?
People there were, a helpless, bewildered,
confused crowd. The night was dark; they could not
distinguish one another nor see their way. The falls
thundered loud; the sound of breaking ice and
grinding timbers was overpowering; they could not
hear themselves speak. The wild whirl that inspires
the roaring waves filled their heads—their hearts,
too; they had no thought nor any reason left.
The foundry bell pealed. Let them that have ears
to hear, hear. We here at Ekeby Foundry are nearly
lost. The river is upon us. The dam is failing, the
foundry is in danger and the mill and our own poor
houses—loved in spite of their lowliness.
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