(See Note 72)
The poet does the prophet's deeds; In times of need with new life pregnant, When strife and suffering are regnant, His faith with light ideal leads.
The past its heroes round him posts, He rallies now the present's hosts,
The future opes
Before his eyes,
Its pictured hopes
He prophesies.
He turns the people's trust to doubt
Of heathendom and Moloch-terror;
'Neath thought of God, cold-gray with error, He sees grow green each fresh, new sprout. Set free, these spread abroad, above, Bear fruit of power and of love
In each man's soul,
And make it warm
And make it whole,
In wrath transform,
Away the kingly cloak he tears
And on the people's shoulder places, So it no more need make grimaces
To borrowed clothes some highness wears, But be itself its majesty
In right of spirit-dynasty,
In saga's light
On heart and brain,
In men of might
From its loins ta'en,
In will unbiased and unbroken,
In manly deed and bold word spoken. His songs the nation's sins chastise, He hates a lie, as truth's high teacher (No Sunday-, but a weekday-preacher, Who, suffering, still the wrong defies). Against false peace he plies his lance, 'Gainst cowardice and ignorance,-
No bribe he knows
From nation's hand
Nor king's command;
But _his_ way goes.
He is a brother of the small,
Of women, as of all who suffer,
The new and weak, when waves grow rougher, He steers, till fairer breezes fall.
Greater he grows without his will
By deeds his calling to fulfil,
And near the tomb
To God he sighs,
That soon may rise
A richer bloom
PSALMS
I
I seem to be
Sundered from Thee,
Thou Harmony of all creation.
Am I disowned
For talents loaned
And useless hid in vain probation? Now powerless,
In weariness,
Now in despair a beggar humble For help, for cheer,
A voice, an ear,
To hear and guide, while on I stumble. God, let me be.
Of use to Thee!
My star,--and night
Henceforth my steps enfolding lowers.
Then break and bind
My ravaged mind
The terrors dread of doubt and anguish.
I know the pack,
I drove them back;--
Only to-day does courage languish.
Oh, come now, peace!
Come faith's increase,
That life's strong chain shall ever bind me!
That not in vain
I strive and strain
Myself to seek until I find me!
Honor the springtide life ever adorning,
That all things has made!
Things smallest have some resurrectional morning,
The forms alone fade.
Life begets life,
Potencies higher surprise.
Kind begets kind,
Heedless of time as it flies.
Worlds pass away and arise.
Nothing so small but there's something still smaller, No one can see.
Nothing so great but there's something still greater Beyond it can be.
Worms in the earth--
Mountains to make they essay.
Dust without worth,
Sands with which sea-billows play,--
Founders of kingdoms were they.
Infinite all, where the smallest and greatest Oneness unfold.
No one has seen what was first,--and the latest None shall behold.
Laws underlie,
Order the all they maintain.
Need and supply
Bring one another; our bane
Boots to the general gain.
Eternity's offspring and germ are we all now. Thoughts have their true
Roots in our race's first morning; they fall now, Query and clue,
Freighted with seed
Into eternity's soil;
Joy be your meed,
That your brief life's fleeting toil
Fruit for eternity bears.
Join in the joy of all life, every being,
Brief bloom of its spring!
Honor th' eternal, our human lot freeing
From fetters that cling!
Adding your mite,
With the eternal unite!
Though you decay,
Breathe as a moment you may,
Air of eternity's day!
CHORUS
Who art _Thou_, whom a thousand names trace Through all times that are gone and each tongue? Thou wert infinite yearning's embrace,
Thou wert hope when the yoke heavy hung, Thou wert darkening death-terror's guest,
Thou wert sun that with life-gladness blessed. Still Thine image we changefully fashion,
And each form we would call revelation;
Each man holds his for true with deep passion,-Till it crumbles in poignant negation.
Who Thou art, none can tell.
But I know Thou dost dwell
As the limitless search in my soul--it is Thou!-- After justice and light,
After victory's right
For the new that's revealed, it is Thou, it is Thou! Every law that we see
Or believe there may be,
Though we never can knowledge attain, it is Thou!-- As my armor and aid
Round my life they are laid,
CHORUS
Since we never Thine essence can know, We have thought mediators of Thee;--
But the ages their impotence show,
We stand still, while no way we can see.
If in sickness for succor we thirst,
Is there balm in the dreams that have burst? Stars of hope and of longing eternal,
That we saw o'er life's sorrows arisen,
Shall they sink in death's terrors nocturnal, Only turn into worms in our prison?
SOLO
He that liveth in me,
Needeth no one to be
Mediator; I own Him indeed: it is Thou!
Is eternal hope prized
As from Him; is baptized
By His spirit my own,--is it Thou, is it Thou --: Shall not I, who am dust,
His eternity trust?
I take humbly my law; for I know, it is Thou! Was I worth Thy word: Live!
Let Thy life power give,
QUESTION AND ANSWER
THE CHILD
Father! Within the forest's bound
No bird I found,
No sound of song the woods around.
The bird that glad his song us gave,
Flies o'er the wave;
Perhaps he there will find his grave.
But why does he not wait till later?
THE FATHER
He goes where light and warmth are greater
THE CHILD
Father! It selfish seems to me, Far off to flee,
When all we others here must be.
With new-born spring comes new-born song; By instinct strong
The better new he'll bring erelong.
But if in death the cold waves swallow--?
THE FATHER
Others will come; his kin will follow.
SUNG FOR NORWAY'S RIFLEMEN (1881)
(See Note 73)
Fly the banner, fly the banner! For our freedom fight!
'Neath the banner, 'neath the banner, Riflemen unite!
Graybeard in the Storting
Gives his vote for right and truth, Rifle-voice supporting
Of our armèd youth.
Ring out tuneful
Bullets sent point-blank,
Fiery coursing,
Freedom forcing
Way to royal rank;
They from silent valleys
To the Storting's rallies
Bring the clear "Rah! Rah!"
And there clamors o'er us
Loud the rifle chorus,
Piercing and repeated: "Rah! Rah! Rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah."
As the lingering echo rattles, Listens sure our Mother Norway, That her sons can go the war-way, Fight her freedom's future battles.
WORKMEN'S MARCH (See Note 74)Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken! Keeping time is power's token.
That makes _one_ of many, many, That makes bold, if fear daunts any, That makes small the load and lighter, That makes near the goal and brighter, Till it greets us gained with laughter, And we seek the next one after.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken! Keeping time is power's token.
Marching, marching of few hundreds, No one heeds it, never one dreads; Marching, marching of few thousands, Here and there wakes some to hearing; Marching, marching hundred thousands,-- All will mark that thunder nearing.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken! Keeping time is power's token.
Let us march all, never weaken
Time from Vardö down to Viken,
Vinger up to Bergen's region,--
Let us make _one_ marching legion, Then we'll rout some wrong from Norway, Open wide to right the doorway.
THE LAND THAT SHALL BE
(DEDICATED TO HERMAN ANKER AND M. ANKER ON THE OCCASION OF THEIR SILVER-WEDDING, SEPTEMBER 15, 1888) (See Note 75)
Land that shall be
Thither, when thwarted our longings, we sail,-- Sighs to the clouds, that we breathe when we fail, Form a mirage of rich valley and mead
Over our need,--
Visions revealing the future until
Faith shall fulfil,-
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
All of our labor to sow seeds of gain
Grows in the ages when _our_ names shall wane, Gathered with others', 't is stored in the true
Will to renew.
This then shall carry our labor within,
Safely within
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
Tears that are shed over evil's foul blight, Blood-sweat in conflict to win higher right, Hallow the will unto victory's cost.
Let us be lost,
Rooting out wrong, that the good we may sow,
Soon overgrow
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
Looming in beauty of colors and song, Golden in sunlight that glad makes and strong, Present in children's eyes, looking to-day
Down when you pray.
Winning good victories gives us the power
To own a brief hour
The land that shall be.
Young men and women, strong and sound, Adorn with beautiful excess
Of play and song and flower-dress
Our fatherland's ancestral ground.
They dream great deeds of ages older, They long to lead to battles bolder. Young men and women, strong and sound, Our nation's honor are, in whom
Our whole life has its better bloom, Rebirth upon our fathers' ground
Of them of yore. Anew there flower The old in young folks' summer-power.
Young men and women, strong and sound, Can doubly do our deeds and fill
With higher hope for all we will,--
Are growth in character's deep ground,
To larger life drawn by the spirit
They from our forefathers inherit.
(See Note 76)
Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green, Islands around like fledglings tender,
Fjord-tongues with slender,
Tapering tips in the silence seen.
Rivers, valleys,
Mate among mountains, wood-ridge and slope Wandering follow. Where the wastes lighten, Lake and plain brighten
Hallow a temple of peace and hope.
Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,
Thee, our future's fair land.
Norway, Norway,
Glistening heights where skis swiftly go, Harbors with fishermen, salts, and craftsmen, Rivers and raftsmen,
Herdsmen and horns and the glacier-glow.
Moors and meadows,
Runes in the woodlands, and wide-mown swaths, Cities like flowers, streams that run dashing Out to the flashing
White of the sea, where the fish-school froths.
Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,
MASTER OR SLAVE
Lo, this land that lifts around it
Threatening peaks, while stern seas bound it, With cold winters, summers bleak,
Curtly smiling, never meek,
'Tis the giant we must master,
Till he work our will the faster.
He shall carry, though he clamor,
He shall haul and saw and hammer,
Turn to light the tumbling torrent,--
All his din and rage abhorrent
Shall, if we but do our duty,
Win for us a realm of beauty.
List to the forest-voice murmuring low: All that it saw when alone with its laughter, All that it suffered in times that came after, Mournful it tells, that the wind may know.
WHEN COMES THE MORNING?
(FROM IN GOD'S WAY)
(See Note 77)
_When_ comes the real morning?
When golden, the sun's rays hover
Over the earth's snow-cover,
And where the shadows nestle,
Wrestle,
Lifting lightward the root enringèd
Till it shall seem an angel wingèd,
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
But if the weather is bad
And my spirit sad,
Never morning I know.
No.
Truly, it's real morning,
When blossom the buds winter-beaten, The birds having drunk and eaten
Are glad as they sing, divining
Shining
Great new crowns to the tree-tops given, Cheering the brooks to the broad ocean riven. Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
But if the weather is bad
And my spirit sad,
Never morning I know.
No.
_When_ comes the real morning? When power to conquer parries Sorrow and storm, and carries Sun to the soul, whose burning Yearning
Opens in love and calls to others: Good to be unto all as brothers. _Then_ it is morning,
Real, real morning.
Greatest power you know
--And most dangerous, lo!-- Will you _this_ then possess? Yes.
MAY SEVENTEENTH (1883)
(See Note 78)
Wergeland's statue on May seventeenth
Saw the procession. And as its rear-guard,
Slow marching masses,
Strong men, and women with flower-decked presence; Come now the peasants, come now the peasants.
Österdal's forest's magnificent chieftain Bore the old banner. Soon as we see it Blood-red uplifted,
Greet it the thousands in thought of its story: That is our glory, that is our glory!
Never that lion bore crown that was foreign, Never that cloth was by Dannebrog cloven. I saw the _future_,
When with that banner by Wergeland's column Peasants stood solemn, peasants stood solemn.
Most of our loss in the times that have vanished, Most of our victories, most of our longing, Most that is vital:
Deeds of the past and the future's bold daring Peasants are bearing, peasants are bearing.
Sorely they suffered for sins once committed, But they arise now. Here in the Storting Stalwart they prove it,
All, as they come from our land's every region, Peasants Norwegian, peasants Norwegian.
Hold what they won, with a will to go farther; Whole we must have independence and honor! All of us know it:
Wergeland's summer bears soon its best flower,-- Power in peasants, peasants in power.
I
DEDICATION
You never came here; but I go
Here often and am met by you.
Each room and road here must renew The thought of you and your form show Standing with helpful hand extended, As when long since in trust and deed My home you from my foes defended.
So often, while I wrote this book,
The light shone from your genial eye; Then we were one, both you and I And what in silence being took;
So here and there the book possesses Your spirit and your heart's fresh faith, And therefore now your name it blesses.
The purer sky
Broadens with sense of freedom bolder.
I find in forests joy the keenest
In autumn days
When fancy plays,
I knew a man: in autumn clearness His even course,--
His heart's fine force
His memory is, as--when a-swarming The cold blasts first
Of winter burst--
When all our outward longings falter, And summer's mind
Within we find,
OUR LANGUAGE (1900)
(See Note 80)
Thou, who sailest Norse mountain-air,
And Denmark's songs by the cradle singest, Who badest in Hald the war-flames flare, And, heard in our children's joy, gently ringest,--
Thou treasure of treasures,
Our mother-tongue,
In pains as in pleasures
Our home and our tower,
With God our power,--
We hallow thee!
Whispering secrets that Holberg stored, Thou borest him home to a brighter morning, Didst serve him with armor and whet his sword For satire's assaults and for laughter's warning.
Thou spirit all knowing,
Our mother-tongue,
Kierkegaard thou to the deeps didst bring, Where life's full currents in God he sounded. For Wergeland wert thou the eagle's wing, That lifted him sunward to heights unbounded.
Thou treasure of treasures,
Our mother-tongue,
In pain as in pleasures
Our home and our tower,
With God our power,--
We hallow thee!
Radiant warmth of a May-day
Thou to the spring of our freedom gavest. In thy clearness our Norse flags aye
With song and honor afar thou wavest.
Thou spirit all knowing,
Our mother-tongue,
The ages foregoing,
The future now growing,
The present glowing,--
We hallow thee!
O'er the ocean unrollest thou
Thy carpet of flowers, a bridge that nigher Can bring dear friends to meet even now,-- While faith grows greater and heaven higher.
Thou treasure of treasures,
Our mother-tongue,
In pain as in pleasures
Our home and our tower,
With God our power,--
We hallow thee!
Best of friends that I found wert thou;
Thou waitedst for me in the eyes of mother. And leave me last of them all wilt thou, Who knewest me better than any other.
Our mother-tongue,
Björnstjerne Björnson was born in 1832 and died in 1909. The last edition of his Poems and Songs in his lifetime is the fourth, dated 1903. It is a volume of two hundred pages, containing one hundred and forty-one pieces, arranged in nearly chronological order from 1857, or just before, to 1900. Of these almost two-thirds appeared in the first edition (1870), ending with Good Cheer and including ten pieces omitted in the other editions, eight poems and two lyrical passages from the drama King Sverre; the second edition (1880) added the contents in order through Question and Answer and inserted earlier The Angels of Sleep; the third (1900) extended the additions to include Frederik Hegel.
This translation presents in the same order the contents of the fourth edition, with the exception of the following ten pieces:Bryllupsvise Nr. I. Bryllupsvise Nr. II. Bryllupsvise Nr. III. Bryllupsvise Nr. IV. Bryllupsvise Nr. V. De norske studenter til fru Louise Heiberg. De norske studenters hilsen med fakkeltog til deres kgl. höiheder kronprins Frederik og kronprinsesse Louise. Til sorenskriver Mejdells sölvbryllup. Nytaarsrim til rektor Steen. Til maleren Hans Gudes og frues guldbryllup.
Nine of these are occasional longs in the narrowest sense, with little or no general interest, and showing hardly any of the author's better qualities: five Wedding Songs, a Betrothal Song, a Silver-Wedding Song, a Golden-Wedding Song, and a Students' Song of Greeting to Mrs. Louise Heiberg. The tenth, a characteristic, rather long poem of vigor and value, New Year's Epistle in Rhyme to Rector Steen, is extremely difficult to render into English verse.
The translator has thought it best not to include any of Björnson's lyric productions not contained in the collection published with his sanction during his life, the other lyrics in his tales, dramas. and novels, many occasional short poems in periodicals and newspapers which were abandoned by their author to their fugitive fate, two noble lyrical cantatas, and a few fine poems written after the year 1900.
The translation aims to reproduce as exactly as possible the verse-form, meter, and rhyme of the original. This has been judged desirable because music has been composed for so many of these songs and poems, and each of them is, as it were, one with its musical setting. But such reproduction seems also, on the whole, to be most faithful and satisfactory, when the translator is not endowed with poetic genius equal to that of the author. The very numerous double (dissyllabic) rhymes of the Norwegian are not easy to render in English. Recourse to the English present participle has been avoided as much as possible. If it still seems to be too frequent, the translator asks some measure of indulgence in view of the fact that the use here of the English present participle is formally not so unlike that of the inflectional endings and of the post-positive article Norwegian.
The purpose of the Notes is to assist the better understanding and appreciation of the contents of the book, by furnishing the necessary historical and biographical information. Of the persons referred to it is essential to know their dates, life-work, character, influence, and relation to Björnson. The Notes have been drawn from the accessible encyclopedias, biographical dictionaries, bibliographies, and histories. The notes of Julius Elias to his edition of German translations of Björnson's poems made by various writers and published in 1908 have been freely and gratefully used.
The Introduction is designed not so much to offer new and original criticism as to present the opinions generally held in Scandinavia, and, of course, chiefly in Norway. The lyric poetry of Björnson has been excellently discussed by Christian Collin in Björnstjerne Björnson. Hans Barndom og Ungdom by Henrik Jaeger in Illustreret norsk literaturhistorie, and by various authors, including Swedes and Danes, in articles of Björnstjerne Björnson. Festskrift I anledning af hans 70 aars födelsdag. To all of these special indebtedness is here acknowledged.
New Haven, Connecticut, June, 1915Note 1
NILS FINN. "There has hardly been written later so excellent a continuation of the old Norwegian humorous ballad as this poem (from the winter of 1856-57),written originally in the Romsdal dialect with which Björnson wished 'to astonish the Danes.'" (Collin, ii, 147.)
Note 2.
VENEVIL. Midsummer Day=sanktehans=Saint John's (Feast), on June 24, next to Christmas the chief popular festival in Norway; the time when nature and human life have fullest light and power.
Note 3.
OVER THE LOFTY MOUNTAINS. "Really Björnson's first patriotic song. ... Describes one of the main motive forces in all the history of the Norwegian people, the inner impulse to expansion and the adventurous longing for what is great and distant. ... Written in the narrow, hemmed-in Eikis valley." (Collin, ii, 308, 309)
Note 4.
OUR COUNTRY. Written for the celebration of the Seventeenth of May in Bergen in the year 1859. This is Norway's Constitution Day, corresponding to our Fourth of July, the anniversary of the day in 1814 when at Eidsvold (see Note 5) a representative convention declared the country's independence and adopted a Constitution. The celebration day was instituted as a result of King Karl Johan's proposals for changes in the Constitution during the years 1821 to 1824, especially in favor of an absolute veto. It was taken up in Christiania in 1824, and spread rapidly to all the cities in the land, was opposed by the King and omitted in 1828, taken up by the students of the University in 1829, and soon after 1830 made by Henrik Wergeland (see Note 78) the chief of Norwegian patriotic festivals. In 1870 Björnson conceived and put into practice the "barnetog" or children's procession on this day, when the children march also, each carrying a flag. Bauta, prehistoric, uncut, narrow, tall, memorial stone, from the bronze age.
Hows, burial mounds, barrows.
Note 5.
SONG FOR NORWAY. Written in the summer of 1859 in connection with the tale Arne, but not included in that book. The people of Norway have adopted this poem as their national hymn, because it is vigorous, picturesque summary of the glorious history of the co
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