Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - In the Forest
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Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
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journey through the forest-scenery here along
the extended solitary road, so, travelling on the
great high-road of thought, ideas pass through
our head. Strange, rich caravans pass by from
the works of poets, from the home of memory,
strange and novel – for capricious fancy gives
birth to them at the moment. There comes a
procession of pious children with waving flags
and joyous songs; there come dancing Moenades,
the blood’s wild Bacchantes. The sun pours
down hot in the open forest: it is as if the
Southern summer had laid itself up here to rest
in Scandinavian forest-solitude, and sought itself
out a glade where it might lie in the sun’s hot
beams and sleep: hence this stillness, as if it
were night. Not a bird is heard to twitter, not
a pine-tree moves: of what does the Southern
summer dream here in the North, amongst
pines and fragrant birches?
In the writings of the olden time, from the
classic soil of the South, are sagas of mighty
fairies who, in the skins of swans, flew towards
the North, to the Hyperborean’s land, to the
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