Chapter 4

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.

P. A. MUNCH (1863) (See Note 20)

Many forms belong to greatness. He who now has left us bore it As a doubt that made him sleepless, But at last gave revelation,-- As a sight-enhancing power, That gave visions joined with anguish Over all beyond our seeing,-- As a flight on labor's pinions From the thought unto the certain, Thence aloft to intuition,-- Restless haste and changeful ardor, God-inspired and unceasing, Through the wide world ever storming, Took its load of thoughts and doubtings, Bore them, threw them off,--and took them, Never tired, never listless.

Still! for he had one haven of rest: Family-life peace-bestowing! Powers of light gave repose to his breast, Calm 'mid the strife of his knowing.

Softly with music his wife led him in Unto the sweet-smelling birches! Unto the flowers and still deeper in Under the fir-forest's churches!

Daughters drew near him in love secure Cooling his forehead's hot fever; Gently their message of innocence pure Made him a childlike believer.

Or he joined glad in their light-hearted game, Colors and music surrounding,-- Gone were the clouds, in the heavens came Sparkling of star-light abounding.

But as in an autumn evening Silent, dreamy, dark, sheet-lightning Wakens thought and feeling stormward,-- Or as in a boat a sudden Stroke when gliding as in slumber On between the cliffs that tower In a quiet, balmy spring night,-- But a single stroke and soft, then Echo takes it up and tosses To and fro 'mid walls of mountains, Thrush and grouse send forth their wood-calls Deer rise up and listen keenly, Stones are rolling, all are up now, Dogs are barking, bells are clanging, Ushering in the strife of daytime,-- Thus could oft a recollection Down-light falling in that playtime, Waken all his thought and doubting!

Then it roved the wide world over, Then it hottest burned within him,-- But it lavished light for others!

Rise of races, spread of language, Birth of names, all laws' close kinship, Small and great in equal passion, Equal haste and doubting goal-ward!-- There where others stones saw only, He saw precious gems that glistened, Sunk his shaft the mine to deepen. And where others thought the treasure Sure and safe for years a hundred, Doubt possessed him as he burrowed Day and night -- and saw it vanish! But the unrest that gave power Made him oft the goal pass over; While to others he gave clearness, Intuitions new deceived him. Therefore: where he once had striven, Thither he would turn him never, Changed his ground and shifted labor, From his own thought-conquests fleeing. But his thoughts pursued, untiring, Followed, growing, as the fire, Kindled in Brazilian forests, Storm-wind makes and storm-wind follows! Where before no foot had trodden, Ways were burned for many millions!

Northward stretches Scandinavia 'Mid the fog that dims the Ice-sea, Darkness of the months of winter Lays its weight on sea and mountain. Like our lands are too our peoples. Their beginnings prehistoric Stretch afar in fog and darkness. But as through the fog a lighthouse, Or as Northern Lights o'er darkness, Gleamed his thought with light and guidance. When with filial fond remembrance Tenderly he sought and questioned, Searching for his people's pathways-- Names and graves and rusty weapons, Stones and tools their answer gave him. Through primeval Asian forests, Over steppes and sands of deserts, 'Neath a thousand years that moldered, Saw he caravan-made footsteps Seek a new home in the Northland. And as they the rivers followed, Followed them his thought abundant, Into Nature's All full-flowing.--

See his restless soul's creation! Harmony of truth he yearned for, Found it not, but wonder-working New discoveries and pathways, --Like those alchemists aforetime Who, though gold was all their seeking, Found not that, but mighty forces, Which to-day the world are moving.--

***

Deepest ground of all his being Was the polar power of contrast, For his thought, to music wakened By the touch of _Northern Saga_, Vibrated melodious longing, Toward the _South_ forever tending. In his eye the lambent fire, Of his thought the glint, showed kinship With the free improvisator In the land of warmth and vineyards. And his swiftly changing feeling And his all-consuming ardor, That could toil the livelong winter Till caprice the fruit discarded,-- That immeasurable richness Wherein thoughts and moods and music, Joy and sorrow, jest and earnest, Gleamed and played without cessation,-- All a Southern day resembled!

Therefore was his life a journey, Towards the South in constant movement,-- Through the mists of intuition, From the darker to the brighter, From the colder to the warmer,-- On the bridge of ceaseless labor Bearing over sea and mountain!

Oh, the time with wife beside him And his bonny playmate-sisters (Gladsome children, winsome daughters), When he stood, where evening sunshine Glowed on Capitol and Forum,-- Stood where from the great world-city, As from history's very fountain, Knowledge wells in streams of fullness;-- Where a clearness large and cloudless Falls upon the bygone ages That have laid them down to rest here;-- Where to him, the Northern searcher, It would seem, he had been straying Too long lost in history's fogland, Rowing round the deep fjords' surface;-- Stood where dead men burst the earth-clods And themselves come forth for witness In their heavy marble togas;-- Where the goddesses of Delos In the frescoed halls are dancing, As two thousand years before now;-- Pantheon and Coliseum In their spacious fate have sheltered All the world's swift evolution;-- Where a Hermes from that corner Saw the footsteps firm of Cato, Pontifex in the procession,-- Saw then Nero as Apollo Lifted up take sacrifices, Saw then Gregory, the wrathful, Riding forth to rule in spirit Over all the known world's kingdoms,-- Saw then Cola di Rienzi Homage pay to freedom's goddess 'Mid the Roman people's paeans,-- Saw Pope Leo and his princes Choose instead of the Lord Jesus Aristotle dead and Plato;- Saw again how stouter epochs Raised the Church of Papal power, Till the Frenchman overthrew it And exalted Nature's Godhead; Saw anew then wonted custom In its pious, still processions With a Lamb the great world's ruler!-- All this saw the little Hermes On the corner near the temple, And the wise man from the Northland Saw that Hermes and his visions.

Yes, when over Rome he stood there In that high, historic clearness, And his eye the mountain-ridges Followed toward the red of evening,-- Then all beams of longing focused In a blessed intuition, And -- he saw a church before him Greater far than that of nature, And he felt a peace descending, Larger far than all the present.

When the second time he came there, After days and nights of labor, Hard as were it for redemption,-- Then the Lord Himself gave welcome, Led him gently thither, saying: "Peace be with thee! Thou hast conquered!"

But to us with sorrow stricken Turned the Lord with comfort, saying: "When _I_ call, who then dares murmur, That the called man had not finished?"

Whoso dies, he here had finished! Spite our sorrow we believe it, Hold that He, who unrest giveth (The discoverer's disquiet, That drove Newton, drove Columbus), Also knows when rest is needed.

But we question, while reviewing All that mighty thought-armada Now disbanded, home-returning: Who again shall reunite it?

For when _he_ cut his war-arrow, Lords and liegemen soon were mustered, And to aid from Sweden, Denmark, England, France, swift-flying vessels Coursed the sea-ways toward his standard.

Royal was that fleet and mighty, By our shore at anchor lying; We were wont to see it near us Or to hear the wondrous tidings Of its cruises and its conquests.

What it won we own forever; But the fleet is sailing homeward. Here we stand the last sail watching As it sinks on the horizon. Then we turn and breathe the question: Who again shall reunite it?

KING FREDERIK THE SEVENTH (1863) (See Note 21)

Our King is bereft of a trusty friend! And in dismay We lower our banners and sad attend On his burial day. But Denmark, in sorrow most deep thou waitest, For fallen the life that was warmest, greatest, And fallen the tower Of mightiest power. Bewailing the death of their kingly chief, Men voice their grief.

For Denmark's salvation the man was born Who now is dead. When banished in youth from the court in scorn, To his people he fled. There throve he right well, there grew he together With peasants and sailors in foul and fair weather, While fullness of living Its schooling was giving; When ready for Denmark was laid the snare, Then he was there!

Now soon it was plain, he was peasant-skulled For their tricks; and hence The traitors' shrewd schemings were all annulled By his bit of sense. He knew but one thing;--what his people thought them, And therefore in danger he freedom brought them. The whole was his vision, He would no scission; His words were but few, and of these the key: "It shall not be!"

He stood by the helm like a sailor good, In no storm remiss; Of praise the tribute he never would, But he shall have _this_! The ship to the North he unswerving directed,-- In storm or in fog, exposed or protected;-- And fear allaying, All folk were saying: "He isn't so stupid as people tell, For all goes well!"

"On deck every man!" was his last command, "There's storm again!" When answered the cry from the mast-head: "Land!" Oh, then, just then, Were loosed from the helm the true hands that were steering, In death he sank down, while the ship began veering-- No, never veering! To the course adhering! Now, Denmark, united, with all thy force Hold straight his course!

He made it his honor, in line to stand, No rank to know; But shoulder to shoulder to lend a hand, And pride forego. They gather now fruit of his faithful training: Well drilled, every man at his post is straining. The course is steady, For tried and ready Is many a helmsman, and all their will Is "Northward still!"

Naught else can they do now, but with good cheer Hold out they must, Stand guard in the darkness and have no fear, In God their trust. It is sultry and silent, and yearning in sorrow All breathless they listen and wait for the morrow,-- 'T is time for waiting, Till, night abating, The eastern sky reddens and bright dawn speeds The day of deeds!

TO SWEDEN (DECEMBER 28, 1863) (See Note 22)

Lift thou thine ancient yellow-blue! Aloft the front must show it. The German's slow to take the cue, But seeing that he'll know it.

He'll know that greater danger's near Than ink on Bismarck's trousers; That it will cost him doubly dear, Men, horses, bovine browsers;

That ten years' nonsense now is done, The daily quarrel dirty Will soon become a war with one Who held his own for thirty;

The Northland's stubborn folk allied Their forces are uniting, With glorious memories to guide, The Northern heavens lighting;

That great Gustavus once again To battle glad is riding, But now _against_ the Southern men _With_ Christian Fourth is siding,--

With Haakon Earl the times of old Round Palnatoki gather; Near Charles the Twelfth stands Tordenskjold, Placid, and smiling rather,--

That we, who have so well known how To fight against each other, Shall not exactly scorn earn now, When brother stands with brother.

But forward _thou_ the way must lead With stirring drum-beats' rattle, Thy marching-step we all must heed, Thou 'rt known on fields of battle.

That ancient Swedish melody, Renowned in world-wide glory, Not merely for the heart's deep plea In Jenny's travel-story,--

But for the solemn earnestness To Lützen's battle calling, And for the daring strains no less, That rang at Narwa's falling,--

The song thou sang'st the North t' inspire With virtue and with power, _The three must with united choir Lift up this very hour!_

It now must bear aloft a hymn, The call of God proclaiming; Pictures of blood its lines shall limn, Drawn bold in letters flaming,--

Its name shall be: "The Free North's Hymn!" Of all the hymns thou voicest, Whose glory time shall never dim, It shall be first and choicest.

OUR FOREFATHERS (JANUARY 13, 1864) (See Note 23)

High memories with power Shine through the wintry North On every peak's white tower, On Kattegat so swarth. All is so still and spacious, ` The Northern Lights flow free, Creating bright and gracious A day of memory.

Each deed the North defending, Each thought for greater might, A star-like word is sending Down through the frosty night! To hope they call and boldness, And call with double cheer To him, defying coldness, On guard the Eider near.

No anxious shadows clouding, No languid, lukewarm mist Our heaven of mem'ries shrouding, This eve of battle-tryst! May, as of yore, while ringing The bells unseen loud swelled, Come leaders vict'ry bringing, Whom th' army ne'er beheld.

WHEN NORWAY WOULD NOT HELP (EASTER EVE, 1864) (See Note 24) When Kattegat now or the Belt you sail, No more will you sight The Danish proud frigate, no more will you hail The red and white; No more will the ringing command be heard In Wessel's tongue, No rollicking music, no jocund word, 'Neath Dannebrog sung. No dance will you see, no laughter meet, As the white sails shine, From mast and from stern no garland you greet, Of arts the sign. But all that we owned of the treasures on board The deeps now hold; One sad winter night to the sea-waves were poured Our memories old.

It was that same night, when the frigate nigh To Norway's land Distress-guns was firing, the surf running high With sea-weed and sand. To help from the harbor men put out boats, But they turn back, ... The frigate toward Germany drifting floats, A broken wrack! What once had been ours overboard was strown, Each kinship mark Was quickly removed, to the sea it was thrown With curses stark! The Northern lion, that figure-head gray, Now had to fall, In pieces 'twas hewn, and the frigate lay Like a shattered wall. ... Repaired and refitted, its canvas it spread Near Germany's coast, With black-yellow flag and an eagle dread In the lion's post. When sailing we Kattegat sweep with our eyes, 'T is still evermore. But a German admiral's frigate lies Near Scania's shore.

DANIEL SCHJÖTZ (DIED OF OVER-EXERTION AS VOLUNTEER MILITARY-SURGEON, 1864)

He gave heed to no Great Power But the one that God we call. Hastening on to death's high hour, He before asked not the Gaul, Nor the Briton, nor the others, If he too had leave to die In the battle of his brothers Underneath the Danish sky. First to act with ardor youthful, First a strong, clear faith to show, First to swear in spirit truthful, First o'er death's dark bridge to go.

Knowing not, in times so trying None would come but he alone, Thus he struggled, death defying, For the sacred things we own. He of thousands here remaining Single would the name redeem, Sank then with his zeal unwaning Down beneath death's silent stream. First of souls in hope believing, Freedom's right 'gainst wrong to wield, First warm drop, full-flowing, cleaving, Of our blood on Denmark's shield.

TO THE DANNEBROG (WHEN DYBBÖL WAS CAPTURED) (See Note 25)

Dannebrog of old was seeming _Snow-white, rosy red,_ Through the mists of ages beaming, Heaven's gift outspread, Rich as fruits of Denmark's planting, Grand as song of heroes chanting, Spirit-winged to deeds of daring O'er the wide world faring.

Dannebrog, thou now art seeming _Death-pale, bloody red,_ Like a dying sea-gull gleaming White with blood o'erspread. Purple tides the wounds are showing From thy faith in justice flowing; Denmark, bear the cross, thy burden Honor is thy guerdon!

TOAST FOR THE MEN OF EIDSVOLD (MAY 17, 1864) (See Note 26)

'Twas then this land of ours we drew From centuries of ice and sorrow, And let it of the sun's warmth borrow, And law and plow brought order new; We dug the wealth in mountain treasured, Our stately ships the oceans measured, And springtime thoughts were free to run As round the Pole the midnight sun.

And still with God we'll conquer, hold: Each plot reclaimed for harvest-reaping, Each ship our sea takes to its keeping, Each child-soul we to manhood mold, Each spark of thought our life illuming, Each deed to fruit of increase blooming,-- A province adds unto our land And o'er our freedom guard shall stand.

THE NORRÖNA-RACE (NOVEMBER 4, 1864)

Norröna-race's longing, It was the sea's free wave, And fight of heroes thronging, And honor that it gave; Their thoughts and deeds upspringing From roots in Surtr's fire, With branches topward swinging To Yggdrasil aspire.

His course alone each guided, Oft brother-harm was done; Our vict'ries were divided, The honor gained was one. Each heard his call time-fated, First Norway, Denmark, came, The Swede the longest waited, But greatest grew his fame.

In eastern, western regions The Danish dragons shone, To Norway's roving legions Jerusalem was known. From sparks the Swedish spirit Struck forth in Poland's night, Through Lützen must inherit Full half the world its light.

First Norseman, Dane, agreeing In trying times were found, But Saga's will far-seeing By little men was bound; Then Norseman, Swede, agreeing, Time in its fullness found, And Saga's will far-seeing Shall nevermore be bound.

There is prophetic power In longing hearts of men, Foretells our union's hour ' For great deeds once again. Each festival so glorious To solemn vows us draws: Forever be victorious Our blood's, our race's cause!

HYMN OF THE PURITANS (FROM MARIA STUART)

Arm me, Lord, my strength redouble, Heaven open, heed my trouble! God, if my cause Thine shall be, Grant a day of victory! Fell all Thy foes now! Fell all Thy foes now! Roll forth Thy thunders, Thy lightning affright them, Into the pit, the bottomless, smite them, Their seed uproot, Tread under foot! Send then Thy snowy white dove peace-bringing, Unto Thy faithful Thy token winging, Olive-branch fair of Thy summer's fruition After the deluge of sin's punition!

HUNTING SONG (FROM MARIA STUART)

Round us rolls the heather's sheen, Heather's sheen, 'Neath the falcon of our queen, Of our queen.

Birch and cherry balm exhale, Balm exhale, Loud our horns the cliffs assail, Cliffs assail.

Light the air and clear the sky, Clear the sky,-- Hurrah! onward, she is nigh, She is nigh.

Hunt ye joy with every breath, Every breath, Hunt it to the stream of death, Stream of death!

TAYLOR'S SONG (FROM MARIA STUART)

For joys the hours of earth bestow With sorrow thou must pay. Though many follow close, yet know, They're loaned but for a day. With sighing in thy laughter's stead Shall come a time of grief, The load of usury bow thy head, With loss of thy belief. Mary Anne, Mary Anne, Mary Anne, Mary Anne, Hadst thou not smiled upon me, thou, I were not weeping now.

May God help him who never can Give only half his soul; The time comes surely for that man To take the sorrow whole. May God help him who was so glad, That he cannot forget, Help him who lost the all he had, But not his reason yet. Mary Anne, Mary Anne, Mary Anne, Mary Anne, The flowers that my life had grown, Died out when thou went gone.

LECTOR THAASEN (See Note 27)

I read once of a flower that lonely grew, Apart, with trembling stem and pale of hue; The mountain-world of cold and strife Gave little life And less of color.

A botanist the flower chanced to see And glad exclaimed: Oh, this must sheltered be, Must seed produce, renewing birth, In sun-warmed earth Become a thousand.

But as he dug and drew it from the ground, Strange glitterings upon his hands he found; For to its roots clung dust of golden hue; The flower grew On golden treasure!

And from the region wide came all the youth To see the wonder; they divined the truth: Here lay their country's future might; A ray of light From God that flower!--

This I recall now even while I mourn; The Lord of life has lifted him and borne From mountain-cold and wintry air To fruitage fair In warmth eternal.

For where the roots were of that life replete, What gleams and glitters! See, they ran to meet The shafts of wisdom's goodly mines, The gold that shines In veins of God's thought.

Now he is lifted up, to light are brought The riches he to guard so faithful sought. The treasures of our past are there, And glintings rare Of future riches.

Come, Norway's youth! Unearth to use the hoard That round this heaven-borne flower's roots was stored! To you his message! Hear and heed! Achieve in deed His dream and longing!

DURING A JOURNEY IN SWEDEN (See Note 28)

My boyish heart in thee confided, For to the great by thee 't was guided. As man, my waiting is for thee,-- _The Northern cause with thee, with thee!_

Rich lands and talents are thy dower, But fallow lie thy wealth and power. _Thou must the North in concord bind, Or never shalt thy true self find._

There's longing in thy folk arisen, Poetic hope--but yet in prison. Though forces great within thee dwell, Thou art not wholly sound and well.

Too many things are undertaken, Too oft the task is soon forsaken. Though rich in promptings of the heart, In faith and duty faint thou art.

In danger only hast thou thriven, When something great to guard was given. When every breast with warmth shall glow At Sweden's name, thy strength thou'lt know.

What's thine alone lifts not thy feeling, Till honor's cause the skies are pealing, Thou hast no joy but daring deed In fortune's favor or in need.

For thy fair memories inspiring Are far too great, much more requiring: _The Northern cause! Lead thou the way! 'T will double glory thee repay!_

Of all thou canst, this is the greatest, Thy duty earliest and latest. Thy future rests in its embrace With cure for ills that now abase.

Thou land of heart-born fancies thronging, Thou land of poetry and longing, Fill now thy heart, thy spirit free! _The Northern banner waits for thee!_

THE TRYST

Silent I'm biding, While softly gliding Sink the still hours to eternity's sleep. My fancies roaming List in the gloaming:-- Will she the trysting now keep?

Winter is dreaming, Bright stars are beaming, Smiling their light through its cloud-veil they pour, Summer foretelling Sweet love compelling;-- Dare she not meet me here more?

'Neath the ice lying, Longing and sighing, Ocean would wander and warmer lands woo. Anchored ships swinging, Sail-thoughts outflinging;-- Come we together, we two!

Whirling and fallings Pictures enthralling, Fairy-light made in the forest the snow; Wood-folk are straying, Shadows are playing;-- Was it your footstep? Oh, no!