A Sigh
Evening sunshine never
Solace to my window bears,
Morning sunshine elsewhere fares;—
Here are shadows ever.
Sunshine freely falling,
Wilt thou not my chamber find?
Here some rays would reach a mind,
’Mid the dark appalling.
Morning sunshine’s gladness,
Oh, thou art my childhood bright;
While thou playest pure and white,
I would weep in sadness.
Evening sunshine’s whiling,
Oh, thou art the wise man’s rest;—
Farther on! Then from the west
Greet my window smiling!
Morning sunshine’s singing,
Oh, thou art the fantasy
That the sun-glad world lifts free,
Past my powers’ winging.
Evening sunshine’s quiet,
Thou art more than wisdom’s rest,
Christian faith glows in thee blest:
Calm my soul’s wild riot!
TO A GODSON (1861) (With an album containing portraits of all those who at the time of his birth were leaders in the intellectual and political world.)
Here hast thou before thee that constellation
Whereunder was born thy light;
These stars in the vault of high thoughts’ mutation
Will fashion thy life with might.
Their prophecy, little one, we cannot know,
They light up the way that, unknown, thou shalt go
And kindle the thoughts that within shall glow.
Thou first shalt them gather,
Then choose thine own,—
So canst thou the rather
Grope on alone.
BERGLIOT (See Note 11) (Harald Haardraade’s saga, towards the end of Chapter 45, reads thus: When Einar Tambarskelve’s wife Bergliot, who had remained behind in her lodgings in the town, learned of the death of her husband and of her sort, she went straight to the royal residence, where the armed force of peasants was, and eagerly urged them to fight. But in that very moment the King (Harald) rowed out along the river. Then said Bergliot: “Now miss we here my kinsman, Haakon Ivarson; never should Einar’s murderer row out along the river, if Haakon stood here on the river-bank.”)
(In her lodgings)
To-day King Harald
Must hold his ting-peace;
For Einar has here
Five hundred peasants.
Our son Eindride
Safeguards his father,
Who goes in fearless
The King defying.
Thus maybe Harald,
Mindful that Einar
Has crowned in Norway
Two men with kingship,
Will grant that peace be,
On law well grounded;
This was his promise,
His people’s longing.—
What rolling sand-waves
Swirl up the roadway!
What noise is nearing!
Look forth, my footboy!
—The wind’s but blowing!
Here storms beat wildly;
The fjord is open,
The fells low-lying.
The town’s unchanged
Since child I trod it;
The wind sends hither
The snarling sea-hounds.
—What flaming thunder
From thousand voices!
Steel-weapons redden
With stains of warfare!
The shields are clashing!
See, sand-clouds rising,
Speer-billows rolling
Round Tambarskelve!
Hard is his fortune!—
Oh, faithless Harald:
Death’s ravens roving
Ride o’er thy ting-peace!
Fetch forth the wagon,
Drive to the fighting!
At home to cower
Would cost my life now.
(On the way)
O yeomen, yield not,
Circle and save him!
Eindride, aid now
Thine aged father!
Build a shield-bulwark
For him bow-bending!
Death has no allies
Like Einar’s arrows!
And thou, Saint Olaf,
Oh, for thy son’s sake!
Help him with good words
In Gimle’s high hall!
( Nearer )
Our foes are the stronger …
They fight now no longer …
Subduing,
Pursuing,
They press to the river,—
What is it that’s done?
What makes me thus quiver?
Will fortune us shun?
What stillness astounding!
The peasants are staying,
Their lances now grounding,
Two dead men surrounding,
Nor Harald delaying!
What throngs now enwall
The ting-hall’s high door! …
Silent they all
Let me pass o’er!
Where is Eindride!
—
Glances of pity
Fear lest they show it,
Flee lest they greet me …
So I must know it:
Two deaths there will meet me!—
Room! I must see:
Oh, it is they!—
Can it so be?—
Yes, it is they!
Fallen the noblest
Chief of the Northland;
Best of Norwegian
Bows is broken.
Fallen is Einar
Tambarskelve,
Our son beside him,—
Eindride!
Murdered with malice,
He, who to Magnus
More was than father,
King Knut the Mighty’s
Son’s counselor good.
Slain by assassins
Svolder’s sharp-shooter,
The lion that leaped on the
Heath of Lyrskog!
Pride of the peasants
Snared in a pitfall,
Time-honored Tronder,
Tambarskelve.
White-haired and honored,
Hurled to the hounds here,—
Our son beside him,
Eindride!
Up, up, ye peasants, he has fallen,
But he who felled him is living!
Have you not known me? Bergliot,
Daughter of Haakon from Hjörungavaag;
—
Now I am Tambarskelve’s widow.
To you I appeal, peasant-warriors:
My aged husband has fallen.
See, see, here is blood on his blanching hair,
Your heads shall it be on forever,
For cold it becomes, while vain is your vengeance.
Up, up, warriors, your chieftain has fallen,
Your honor, your father, the joy of your children,
Legend of all the valley, hero of all the land,—
Here he has fallen, will you not avenge him?
Murdered with malice within the king’s hall,
The ting-hall, the hall of the law, thus murdered,
Murdered by him whom the law holds highest,—
From heaven will lightning fall on the land,
If thus left unpurged by the flames of vengeance.
Launch the long-ships from land
Einar’s nine long-ships are lying here,
Let them hasten vengeance on Harald!
If he stood here, Haakon Ivarson,
If he stood here on the hill, my kinsman,
The fjord should not save the slayer of Einar,
And I should not seek you cowards who flinch!
Oh, peasants, hear me, my husband has fallen,
The high-seat of my thoughts through years half a hundred!
Overthrown it now is, and by its right side,
Our only son fell, oh, all our future!
All is now empty between my two arms;
Can I ever again lift them up in prayer?
Or whither on earth shall I betake me?
If I go and stay in the places of strangers,—
I shall long for those where we lived together.
But if I betake me thither,—
Ah, them, themselves I shall miss.
Odin in Valhall I dare not beseech;
For him I forsook in days of childhood.
But the great new God in Gimle?—
All that I had He has taken!
Vengeance? Who speaks of vengeance?
Can vengeance the dead awaken,
Or cover me warm from the cold?
Find I in it a widow’s seat sheltered,
Solace to cheer a childless mother?
Away with your vengeance! Let me alone!
Lay him on the wagon, him and our son!
Come, we will follow them home.
That God in Gimle, new and fearful, who all has taken,
Let Him now also take vengeance! Well He knows how!
Drive slowly! For so drove Einar always;
—Soon enough we shall come home.
The dogs to-day will not greet us gladly,
But drearily howl with drooping tails.
And lifting their heads the horses will listen;
Neighing they stand, the stable-door watching,
Eindride’s voice awaiting.
In vain for his voice will they hearken,
Nor hears the hall the step of Einar,
That called before him for all to arise and stand,
For now came their chieftain.
Too large the house is; I will lock it;
Workmen, servants send away;
Sell the cattle and the horses,
Move far hence and live alone.
Drive slowly!
—Soon enough we shall come home.
TO MY WIFE
(WITH A SET OF ROMAN PEARLS)
(See Note 12)
Pray, take these pearls!—and my thanks for them
You lavished, the home of my youth to gem!
The thousands of hours of peaceful luster
Your spirit has filled, are pearls that cluster
With beauty blest
On my happy breast,
And softly shining
My brow are entwining
With thoughts whence the truth gleams: Thus gave his wife,
Who jeweled with tenderest love his life!
IN A HEAVY HOUR
(See Note 13)
Be glad when danger presses
Each power your soul possesses!
In greater strain
Your strength shall gain,
Till greater vict’ry blesses!
Supports may break in pieces,
Your friends may have caprices,
But you shall see,
The end will be,
Your need of crutches ceases.
—’T is clear,
Whom God makes lonely,
To him He comes more near.
KAARE’S SONG
(FROM SIGURD SLEMBE)
(See Note 14)
KAARE
What wakens the billows, while sleeps the wind?
What looms in the west released?
What kindles the stars, ere day’s declined,
Like fires for death’s dark feast?
ALL
God aid thee here, our earl,
God aid thee here, our earl,
It is Helga, who comes unto Orkney.
KAARE
What drives the fierce dragon to ride the foam,
While billows with blood are red?
The sea-fowl are shrieking, they seek their home,
And hover around my head.
ALL
God aid thee here, our earl,
God aid thee here, our earl,
It is Helga, who comes unto Orkney.
KAARE
What maiden so strange to the strand draws nigh,
In light with soft music nears?
What is it that makes all the flowers die,
What fills all your eyes with tears?
ALL
God aid thee here, our earl,
God aid thee here, our earl,
It is Helga, who comes unto Orkney.
IVAR INGEMUNDSON’S LAY
(FROM SIGURD SLEMBE)
(See Note 15)
Wherefore have I longings,
When to live them strength is lacking?
And wherefore see I,
If I see but sorrow?
Flight of my eye to the great and distant
Dooms it to gales of darkening doubt;
But fleeing backward to the present,
It’s prisoned in pain and pity.
For I see a land with no leader,
I see a leader with no land.
The land how heavy-laden
The leader how high his longing!
Might the men but know it,
That he is here among them!
But they see a man in fetters,
And leave him to lie there.
Round the ship a storm is raging,
At the rudder stands a fool. Who can save it?
He, who below the deck is longing,
Half-dead and in fetters.
(Looking upward)
Hear how they call Thee
And come with arms uplifted!
They have their savior at hand,
And Thou sayest it never?
Shall they, then, all thus perish,
Because the one seems absent?
Wilt Thou not let the fool die,
That life may endure in many?
What means that solemn saying:
One shall suffer for many?
But many suffer for one.
Oh, what means it?
The wisdom Thou gavest
Wearies me with guesswork.
The light Thou hast dealt me
Leads me to darkness.
Not me alone, moreover,
But millions and millions!
Space unending spans not all the questions
From earth here and up toward heaven.
Weakness cowers in walls of cloisters,
But wills of power press onward,
And thronging, with longing,
They thrust one another out of the lands.—
Whither? Before their eyes is night,
“In Nazareth a light is set!” one says aloud,
A hundred thousand say it;
All see it now: To Nazareth!
But the half-part perish from hunger by the wayside,
The other half by the sword of the heathen,
The pest awaits the pilgrim in Nazareth,—
Wast Thou there, or wast Thou not there?
Oh, where art Thou?
The whole world now awakens,
And on the way is searching
And seeking after Thee!
Or wast Thou in the hunger?
Wast Thou in the pest?
Wast Thou in the sword of the heathen?
Saltest Thou with the salt of wrath?
Refinest Thou with suffering’s fire?
Hast Thou millions of millions hidden in Thy future,
Whom Thou thus wilt save to freedom?
Oh, to them are the thousands that now suffer
But one,
And that one I would beseech Thee for—
Nothing!
I follow a little brook
And find it leads to an ocean,
I see here a little drop,
And swelling in mist it mounts a mighty cloud.
See, how I’m tossed so will-less
By troublous waves of doubt,
The wind overturned my little boat,
The wreck is all my refuge.
Lead me, lead me,
I see nowhere land!
Lift me, lift me,
I nowhere footing find!
MAGNUS THE BLIND
(FROM SIGURD SLEMBE)
(See Note 16)
“Oh, let me look once again and see
Starlight the heavens o’ersweeping!”
Begged young Magnus on bended knee,
It was sore to see.
All the women afar were weeping.
“Oh, till to-morrow! The mountains to see
And ocean its blue displaying,
Only once, and then let it be!”
Thus he bent the knee,
While his friends for mercy were praying.
“Oh, in the church let God’s blood so bright
Be the last blessing that greets me!
It shall bathe with a flood of light
Through eternal night
My eyes, when the darkness meets me!”
Deep sank the steel, and each seeing eye
Lightning-like night had swallowed.
“Magnus, King Magnus, good-by, good-by!”
—“Oh, good-by, good-by,—
You who eighteen summers me followed!”
SIN, DEATH
(FROM SIGURD SLEMBE)
(See Note 17)
Sin and Death, those sisters two,
Two, two,
Sat together while dawned the morning.
Sister, marry! Your house will do,
Do, do,
For me, too, was Death’s warning.
Sin was wedded, and Death was pleased,
Pleased, pleased,
Danced about them the day they married;
Night came on, she the bridegroom seized,
Seized, seized,
And away with her carried.
Sin soon wakened alone to weep,
Weep, weep.
Death sat near in the dawn of morning:
Him you love, I love too and keep,
Keep, keep.
He is here, was Death’s warning.
FRIDA
(See Note 18)
Frida, I knew that thy life-years were counted.
If but before thee a lifting thought mounted,
Upward thy gaze turned all wistful to view it,
As wouldst thou pursue it.
Eyes that so clear saw the wonderful vision
Looked far away beyond earth’s indecision.
Snow-white unfolded the pinions that later
Bore thee to the greater.
Speaking or asking thou broughtest me sorrow;
Eyes thine and words thine seemed wanting to borrow
Clearness more pure and thoughts, victory gaining
Beyond my attaining.
When thou wert dancing in all a child’s lightness,
Shaking thy locks like a fountain in brightness,
Laughing till heaven was opened in gladness
Over thy gladness,—
Or when affliction in sternness had spoken,
So that thy heart in that moment seemed broken,
Far from thy thoughts in thy suffering riven
Were both earth and heaven,—
Then, oh, I saw then: thy joy and thy grieving
Ever the bounds of the mortal were cleaving.
All seems so little where silent we ponder,—
But room they have yonder.
BERGEN
(See Note 19)
As thou sittest there
Skerry-bound and fair,
Mountains high around and ocean’s deep before thee,
On thee casts her spell
Saga, that shall tell
Once again the wonders of our land.
Honor is thy due,
“Bergen never new,”
Ancient and unaging as thy Holberg’s humor;
Once kings sought thine aid,—
Mighty now in trade,—
First to fly the flag of liberty.
Oft in proud array,
As a sunshine-day
Breaks forth from thy rain and fog wind-driven,
Thou didst come with men
Or great deeds again,
When the clouds were darkest o’er our land.
Thy soul was the ground,
Wit-enriched and sound,
Whence there sprang stout thoughts to make our country’s harvest,
Whence our arts exist,
In their birth-hour kissed
By thy nature, somber, large, and strong.
In thy mountain-hall
Learned our painter, Dahl;
Wand’ring on thy strands our poet dreamed, Welhaven;
All thy morning’s gold
Ole Bull ensouled,
Greeted on thy bay by all the world.
With thy sea-wide sway
Thou hast might for aye,
Fjords of blue convey thy life-blood through our country.
Norway’s spirit thou
Dost with joy endow,—
Great thy past, no less thy future great.