The Conquest of Finland

Across the frozen marshes The winds of autumn blow, And the fen-lands of the Wetter Are white with early snow.

But where the low, gray headlands Look o'er the Baltic brine, A bark is sailing in the track Of England's battle-line.

No wares hath she to barter For Bothnia's fish and grain; She saileth not for pleasure, She saileth not for gain.

But still by isle or mainland She drops her anchor down, Where'er the British cannon Rained fire on tower and town.

Outspake the ancient Amtman, At the gate of Helsingfors "Why comes this ship a-spying In the track of England's wars?"

"God bless her," said the coast-guard,-- "God bless the ship, I say. The holy angels trim the sails That speed her on her way!

"Where'er she drops her anchor, The peasant's heart is glad; Where'er she spreads her parting sail, The peasant's heart is sad.

"Each wasted town and hamlet She visits to restore; To roof the shattered cabin, And feed the starving poor.

"The sunken boats of fishers, The foraged beeves and grain, The spoil of flake and storehouse, The good ship brings again.

"And so to Finland's sorrow The sweet amend is made, As if the healing hand of Christ Upon her wounds were laid!"

Then said the gray old Amtman," The will of God be done! The battle lost by England's hate, By England's love is won!

"We braved the iron tempest That thundered on our shore; But when did kindness fail to find The key to Finland's door?

"No more from Aland's ramparts Shall warning signal come, Nor startled Sweaborg hear again The roll of midnight drum.

"Beside our fierce Black Eagle The Dove of Peace shall rest; And in the mouths of cannon The sea-bird make her nest.

"For Finland, looking seaward, No coming foe shall scan; And the holy bells of Abo Shall ring, 'Good-will to man!'

"Then row thy boat, O fisher! In peace on lake and bay; And thou, young maiden, dance again Around the poles of May!

"Sit down, old men, together, Old wives, in quiet spin; Henceforth the Anglo-Saxon Is the brother of the Finn!"