MY FATHERLAND (FROM THE FISHER MAIDEN)
I will fight for my land, I will work for my land, Will it foster with love, in my faith, in my child.
I will eke every gain, I will seek boot for bane, From its easternmost bound to the western sea wild.
Here is sunshine enough, Here is seed-earth enough, If by us, if by us all love"s duty were done.
Here is will to create; Though our burdens be great, We can lift up our land, if we all lift as one.
In the past we went wide O"er the sea"s surging tide, And the Norman"s high walls stand on many a sh.o.r.e.
But our flag flies its way Ever farther to-day And is red with life"s vigor as never before.
Great our future shall be; For the Northern lands three Shall unite once again and their true selves shall know.
Give your strength and your deed, Where you nearest see need, As a brook to the river that forward shall flow.
Yes, this land where we dwell, Oh, we love it so well, All was, all it is, all it can be again.
As our love had its birth In this homeland"s dear earth, Shall the seed of our love bring it increase again.
CHOICE (See Note 33)
April for me I choose!
In it the old things tumble, In it things new refresh us; It makes a mighty rumble,-- But peace is not so precious As that his will man shows.
April for me I choose, Because it storms and scourges, Because it smiles and blesses, Because its power purges, Because it strength possesses,-- _In it the summer grows._
NORWEGIAN SEAMEN"S SONG (FOR THE STAVANGER REGATTA, 1868) (See Note 34)
Norwegian seamen are A folk grown strong "neath sail and spar; Where boats can find a way, The best men there are they.
On high seas or at home, In calm or when the storm-waves comb, To G.o.d their prayer they make, Their lives they gladly stake.
Incessant is their strife, They wage with death a war for life, And dear their souls they sell In conflicts none can tell.
All that is commonplace In history seldom leaves its trace, And often none is there, The tidings home to bear.
But fishing-boats in need Have shown so many a daring deed Of courage fine and skill, Though unrecorded still.
And many a seaman"s head A wreath of sea-weed wore when dead, Whose name should shine in gold Among great heroes bold.
Saint Olaf"s Cross"s praise Would on that pilot fitly blaze Who saved a hundred men, And hundred once again.
To many a boy so young, Who riding home to boat"s keel clung, His father set on board, We honor should accord.
In Norway"s mountain-coast Our land"s own mother-breast we boast, With food for us and tears For sons whom danger nears.
In it each deed has lot, And there no brave son is forgot, From Hafurfjord"s great day To the last castaway.
This each one felt and found Who homeward came and looked around; This each one felt who went, In the last look he sent.
They felt the ocean o"er: Their ships our country"s fortune bore; Honor and power it sought,-- And these the white sails brought.
Hurrah for them to-day Who the Norwegian flag display!
Hurrah for pilots true Who forth to meet them flew!
Hurrah for them who ply Their fishing-boats "twixt sea and sky!
Hurrah for all our boast, Our skerry-skirted coast!
HALFDAN KJERULF (1868) (See Note 35)
Winter had sought his life"s tree to o"erthrow, Youthful and strong. But his blood"s vernal flow Saved it from death through the cold and the maiming; Late in the summer bright flowers were flaming, Late in the autumn they swelled to completeness,-- Fruits that were few, but of fragrance and sweetness.
Poets received them to endless seed-sowing, Where for his folk endless summer is glowing,-- While more and more, Stricken he hung o"er the death-river"s sh.o.r.e, Fighting in weakness the winter abhorred, Fighting for summer, the singer"s reward, Fighting while failing, with modesty rare, Soon but in prayer.
Summer received him! He now is victorious!
Now, while they harvest the yellowing corn, Now, while the hills hear the notes of the horn, _He_ enters glorious.
Mirrored in him is true poetry"s force, Marked by our winter, in summer its source.
E"en as the air with its quivering sheen, Leaves of the forests and red peaks serene, Waters that wander "mid meadows delaying Sound with the music the sunshine is playing,-- Poetry also shall leap with new life, If it, though failing, is faithful in strife:-- Leap from death"s thronging:-- _Soon comes the summer with summer"s pure longing._
NORWEGIAN STUDENTS" GREETING WITH A PROCESSION
TO PROFESSOR WELHAVEN (See Note 36)
Hear us, O age-laden singer!
Streams of your tones are returning, Touching your heart!
Spirit of youth is their bringer, Under your window with yearning Called by your art.
Now our soul"s echoes abounding Soar in the blue, In the sun-shimmering blue, High where your silvery song-notes are sounding.
Smile on your labor now lightened, You who in winter perfected Seeds to be sown!
All that your courage has brightened, All that your pity protected, Now it is grown; Over your shoulders upswinging, Folds round your frame, Bringing in roses your name, Joyous the sprite of your poetry bringing.
Onward our life is now marching, Banner-like high thoughts are flying, Lifted to view.
One "mid the foremost o"erarching Leads where the pathway is lying,-- It came from you!
Runes of our past with their warning Carved on its shaft, Show us the spring you have quaffed, Leading our land to the light of the morning.
FOR A CHARITY FAIR (IN A COPY OF MINOR PIECES)
Some poor man in need To bless and to feed, I bring at its worth, This day of my birth, A book,--from my youth I must own.
But Who in His power Gave bud and gave flower, To bread can transform In want"s winter-storm Each leaf that my Springtime has grown.
FORWARD (See Note 37)
"Forward! forward!"
Rang our fathers" battle-cry.
"Forward! forward!"