Poems and Songs Part 3

It was such a lovely suns.h.i.+ne-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I climbed up a tree, oh, what bliss to play, As cooling the breeze consoled me; But worms soon fell on my neck, by chance, And jumping, I cried: "'T is the Devil's own dance!"

"Yes, if the cows aren't sleek and s.h.i.+ny to-day, they'll never be so,"--said mother, gazing up the hillside.

It was such a lovely suns.h.i.+ne-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I dashed to the waterfall's endless play, There only could peace enfold me.

The s.h.i.+ning sun saw me drown and die,-- If you made this ditty, 't was surely not I.

"Three more such suns.h.i.+ne-days, and everything will be in,"--said mother, and went to make my bed.

INGERID SLETTEN (FROM ARNE)

Ingerid Sletten of Sillejord Neither gold nor silver did own, But a little hood of gay wool alone, Her mother had given of yore.

A little hood of gay wool alone, With no braid nor lining, was here; But parent love made it ever dear, And brighter than gold it shone.

She kept the hood twenty years just so: "Be it spotless," softly she cried, "Until I shall wear it once as bride, When I to the altar go."

She kept the hood thirty years just so: "Be it spotless," softly she cried, "Then wear it I will, a gladsome bride, When it to our Lord I show."

She kept the hood forty years just so, With her mother ever in mind.

"Little hood, be with me to this resigned, That ne'er to the altar we'll go."

She steps to the chest where the hood has lain, And seeks it with swelling heart; She guides her hand to its place apart,-- But never a thread did remain.

THE TREE (FROM ARNE)

Ready with leaves and with buds stood the tree.

"Shall I take them?" the frost said, now puffing with glee.

"Oh my, no, let them stand, Till flowers are at hand!"

All trembling from tree-top to root came the plea.

Flowers unfolding the birds gladly sung.

"Shall I take them?" the wind said and merrily swung.

"Oh my, no, let them stand, Till cherries are at hand!"

Protested the tree, while it quivering hung.

The cherries came forth 'neath the sun's glowing eye.

"Shall I take them?" a rosy young girl's eager cry.

"Oh my, yes, you can take, I've kept them for your sake!"

Low bending its branches, the tree brought them nigh.

THE MELODY (FROM ARNE)

The youth in the woods spent the whole day long, The whole day long; For there he had heard such a wonderful song, Wonderful song.

Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair, A flute so fair,-- To try, if within were the melody rare, Melody rare.

Melody whispered and said: "I am here!"

Said: "I am here!"

But while he was listening, it fled from his ear, Fled from his ear.

Oft when he slept, it to him crept, It to him crept; And over his forehead in love it swept, In love it swept.

When he would seize it, his sleep took flight, His sleep took flight; The melody hung in the pallid night, In the pallid night.

"Lord, O my G.o.d, take me therein, Take me therein!

The melody rare all my soul doth win, My soul doth win."

Answered the Lord: "'T is your friend alone, Your friend alone; Though never an hour you it shall own, You it shall own."

OUR COUNTRY (1859) (See Note 4)

A land there is, lying near far-northern snow, Where only the fissures life's springtime may know.

But surging, the sea tells of great deeds done, And loved is the land as a mother by son.

What time we were little and sat on her knee, She gave us her saga with pictures to see.

We read till our eyes opened wide and moist, While nodding and smiling she mute rejoiced.

We went to the fjord and in wonder beheld The ashen-gray bauta, that record of eld; Still older she stood and her silence kept, While stone-studded hows all around us slept.

Our hands she then took and away o'er the hill She led to the church ever lowly and still, Where humbly our forefathers knelt to pray, And mildly she taught us: "Do ye as they!"

She scattered her snow on the mountain's steep side, Then bade on swift skis her young manhood to glide; The North Sea she maddened with scourge of gales, Then bade her young manhood to hoist the sails.

Of beautiful maidens she gathered a throng, To follow our daring with smiles and with song, While she sat enthroned with her saga's scroll In mantle of moonlight beneath the Pole.

Then "Forward, go forward!" was borne on the wind, "With forefathers' aim and with forefathers' mind, For freedom, for Norsehood, for Norway, hurrah!"

While echoing mountains voiced their hurrah.

Then life-giving fountains burst forth on our sight, Then we were baptized with her spirit of might, Then gleamed o'er the mountains a vision high, That summons us onward until we die.

SONG FOR NORWAY (1859) NATIONAL HYMN (See Note 5)

Yes, we love this land that towers Where the ocean foams; Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers Many thousand homes.

Love it, love it, of you thinking, Father; mother dear, And that night of saga sinking Dreamful to us here.

This the land that Harald guarded With his hero-throng, This the land that Haakon warded, Hailed by Eyvind's song.

Olaf here the cross erected, While his blood he shed; Sverre's word this land protected 'Gainst the Roman dread.