Open Water!
Open water, open water!
All the weary winter’s yearning
Bursts in restless passion burning.
Scarce is seen the blue of ocean,
And the hours seem months in motion.
Open water, open water!
Smiles the sun on ice defiant,
Eats it like a shameless giant:
Soon as mouth of sun forsakes it,
Swift the freezing night remakes it.
Open water, open water!
Storm shall be the overcomer
Sweeping on from others’ summer
Billows free all foes to swallow,—
Crash and fall and sinking follow.
Open water, open water!
Mirrored mountains are appearing,
Boats with steam and sail are nearing,
Inward come the wide world’s surges,
Outward joy of combat urges.
Open water, open water!
Fiery sun and cooling shower
Quicken earth to speak with power.
Soul responds, the wonder viewing:
Strength is here for life’s renewing.
SONG OF FREEDOM
TO “THE UNITED LEFT”
(1877)
(See Note 63)
Freedom’s father—power strong,
Freedom’s mother—wrath and song.
Giant-stout, a youth self-taught,
Soon a giant’s work he wrought.
Ever he, full of glee,
Thought and wit and melody,
Mighty, merry, made his way,—
Labor’s toil or battle-fray.
Enemies whom none could tell
Lay in wait this foe to fell,
Found him waking all too stark,
Sought his sleeping hours to mark,
Tried their skill, bound him still;
When he wakened, they fared ill.
Glad he forward strode firm-paced,
Full of power, full of haste.
Bare fields blossom ’neath his feet,
Commerce swells about his seat,
From his fire gleam thought-rays bright,—
All things doubled are in might!
For the land law he planned,
Keeps it, guards with head and hand,
Of all rue and error quit,
Crushing him who injures it.
Freedom’s God is God of light,
Not the bondsman’s god of fright,—
God of love and brotherhood,
Springtime’s hope and will for good.
To earth’s ends peace He sends!
Heed the words His law commends:
“One your Lord, and I am He,
Have no other gods but Me!”
TO MOLDE
(See Note 64)
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Murm’ring memories throng.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o’ergrown,
Houses and gardens where good friends wander!
Hundreds of miles away,—but I’m yonder
’Mid the roses full-blown.
Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty,
Fast is the fight, let each man do his duty.
Friends, who your favor would never begrudge me,
Gently now judge me!—
Only with life ends the fight for the right.
Thought flees to you for a refuge in light.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o’ergrown,
Childhood’s memories’ throne.
Oh, may at last
In thine embrace, life’s fleeting
Conflict past,
Glad thine evening-glory greeting,
—Where life let thought awaken,—
My thought by death be taken!