Poems and Songs Part 21

And that was Olaf Trygvason, Going o'er the North Sea grim, Straight for his home and kingdom steering, Where none awaited him.

Now the first mountains tower; Are they walls, on the ocean that lower?

And that was Olaf Trygvason, Fast the land seemed locked at first, All of his youthful, kingly longings Doomed on the cliffs to burst,-- Until a skald discovered Shining domes in the cloud-mists, that hovered.

And that was Olaf Trygvason, Seemed to see before his eyes Mottled and gray some timeless temple Lifting white domes to the skies.

Sorely he longed to win it, Stand and hallow his young faith within it.

TO HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (AT A SUMMER-FeTE FOR HIM IN CHRISTIANIA, 1871) (See Note 53)

We welcome you this wondrous summer-day, When childhood's dreams on earth are streaming, To bloom and sing, to brighten and to pale; A fairy-tale, A fairy-tale, our Northland all is seeming, And holds you in its arms a festal s.p.a.ce With grateful glee and whisperings face to face.

Th' angelic noise, Sweet strains of children's joys, Bears you a moment to that home Whence all our dreams, whence all our dreams have come.

We welcome you! Our nation all is young, Still in that age of dreams enthralling, When greatest things in fairy-tales are nursed, And he is first, And he is first, who hears his Lord's high calling.

Of childhood's longings you the meaning know, And to the North a goal of greatness show.

Your fantasy Has just that path made free, Where, past the small things that you hate, We yet shall find, we yet shall find the great.

TO STANG (1871) (See Note 54)

May Seventeenth in Eidsvold's church united, To hallow after fifty years the day When they who there our charter free indited, Together for our land were met to pray,-- We both were there with thanks to those great men, With thanks to G.o.d, who to our people then In days of danger courage gave unbounded.

And when so mighty through the church now sounded "Praise ye the Lord!" lifting our pallid prayer To fellowship with all her sons, our brothers, I saw you, child-like, weep in secret there Upon the breast we love, our common mother's.

Then I remembered that from boyhood's hour With all your strength to serve her you have striven, Your youthful fire, your counsel cool have given, And till it waned, your manhood's wealth of power.

With blessing then and praise of you I thought In thankful prayer, as one of those who fought To shield our land from storms of fate's hard weather, Till 'neath the roof in peace we sat together.

Of you I thought;--but so think few and fewer.

Your manhood's fame ere you yourself has crumbled, And you, alas, will not find justice truer, Till you and yours one day have fallen, humbled.

For see, the roads you drew o'er hill and plain For all our people's onward-pressing longing, You dare not travel with the joyous train, That greater grows while towards its future thronging.

You knew not what it was your labor wrought, When steam and powder, bursting every barrier, Gave new-born cravings each its speedy carrier And to the people's spirit power brought.

The new day's work, as 't were the tempest's welter, In din about you seemed a dream, a fable, And with your like you built in fear a shelter From soul-unrest, a looming tower of Babel.

While now you wait for the impending fight, With gentle eye and stately head all h.o.a.ry, And o'er the mountains gleams the morning's glory,-- Your foes half hid amid the mists of night,-- As from an outpost in the wooded wild, These words I send, of peace a token mild.

You fear the people? 'Tis your own that rally, And like the fog arisen from the valley.

You think them rebels, void of sense and oneness?

Yes, spring's full floods obey no rule precise; Storm-squalls and slush render the roads less nice, The snow's pure white is partly soiled to dunness.

But spring is born! The man of genius free, Prophetic, heeds its holy harmony; For genius shares the soul of what shall be.

This you have not and never had an hour, And so you shrink before the people's power.

You were a foreman with the gift of leading, When pioneers cleared up a pathless tract; Your lucid thinking and your gracious tact Oft helped them over obstacles impeding.

But what new growths the ancient fields have filled, From western seed to feed our land's wants tilled, And what new light shines through your window-pane, Longing for truth beneath religion's reign, And what new things but whispering we say,-- And what foretells the dawning reckoning-day,-- You fail to understand and find but madness In our young nation's fairest growth and gladness.

You answer: Poet's deeming is but dreaming, And in the statesman's art most unbeseeming.

I answer: None has might men's life to sway, If impotent the worth of dreams to weigh.

From cravings, powers that seek their form, ascending, They fill the air; their right to be defending, Till all men wakened to one goal are tending.

His nation's dreams are all the statesman's life, Create his might, direct his aim in strife, And if he this forgets, the next dreams blooming Bring forth another, unto death him dooming.

The tempest-clouds that mount afresh and thicken Cannot so dense before the morn's light hover That we may not through cloud-rifts clear discover Great thoughts that new-born victories shall quicken.

Such thoughts are radiant over me to-day, And to my heart the warmer blood is streaming, And all we live for, all that we are dreaming, Its summons sends and strengthens for the fray.

The war-horns soon beneath the woods shall bray, Through dewy night th' a.s.sailing columns dash, Amid the sudden gleams of shot and slash The fog dissolve before our new-born day.

Soon, though you threaten, will the heights be taken For future ages, and our nation's soul Can thence o'erlook the land in might unshaken, With even hand and right to rule the whole.

It soon shall roll war's billows on to battle, While from the clouds the fathers' weapons rattle!

O aged man, look round you where you stand, For soon you have against you all our land.

But when you fall defeated on the field, Then shall we say by your inverted shield: He stood against us, since he knew not better, A n.o.ble knight and never honor's debtor.

ON A WIFE'S DEATH (See Note 55) With death's dark eye acquainted she had been made ere this, When to her son, her first-born, she gave the farewell kiss, And when afar she hastened beside her mother's bed, It followed all her faring with warning fraught and dread; It filled her with foreboding when standing by the bier: More sheaves to gather hopeth the harvester austere.

So soon she saw her husband, that man of strength, succ.u.mb, She said with sorrow stricken: I knew that it would come!"

She thought that he was chosen by G.o.d from earth to go, Would check, her hands upthrusting, the harsh behest of woe; And with her slender body, too weak for such a strife, Would ward her gallant consort,--and gave for him her life.

She smiled, serene and blissful, as death's dark eye she braved; Her sacrifice was given, her heart's proud hero saved.

Our love and admiration lifted a starry dome Of happiness above her in life's last hour of gloam, And snow-white pure she pa.s.sed then to her eternal home.

Such tender love and holy to heaven's bounds can bear The souls that it embraces in sacrifice and prayer.

THE BIER OF PRECENTOR A. REITAN (1872) (See Note 56)

With smiles his soft eyes ever gleamed, When G.o.d and country thinking; With endless joy, his soul, it seemed, Faith, fatherland, was linking.

His word, his song, Like springs flowed strong; They fruitful made the valley long, And quickened all there drinking.

Poor people and poor homes among In wintry region saddest, In Sunday's choir he always sung, Of all the world the gladdest: "The axis stout It turns about, Falls not the poorest home without, For thus, O G.o.d, Thou badest."

With sickness came a heavy year And put to proof his singing, While helpless children standing near His trust to test were bringing.

But glad the more, As soft notes soar When winds o'er hidden harp-strings pour, His song his soul was winging.

His life foretold us that erelong With faith in G.o.d unshaken Shall all our nation stand in song, And church, home, school, awaken, In Norway's song, In gladness' song, In glory of the Lord's own song, From life's low squalor taken.

Fair fatherland, do not forget, The children of his bower!

He, poor as is the rosebush, yet Gave gladness till death's hour-- With failure's smart Let not depart From this thy soil so glad a heart,-- His garden, let it flower!

SONG

Song brings us light with the power of lending Glory to brighten the work that we find; Song brings us warmth with the power of rending Rigor and frost in the swift-melting mind.

Song is eternal with power of blending Time that is gone and to come in the soul, Fills it with yearnings that flow without ending, Seeking that sea where the light-surges roll.