Chapter 6

Though each man with courage fired Hundreds forward bore, Though a thousand died inspired, There is need of more. May a Northern Spring come blowing Over wood and field, Wake the hundred thousands, knowing Meeting-hour revealed!

Hail! A Northern day is written In the brightening sky; Darksome dread, that erst had smitten, Flees, now dawn is nigh. After Gjallar-horn blasts hollow, Tears and shame and blood, As so often, now shall follow Full the spirit's flood.

In our people's life deep-seated This is felt each day: Who grows stronger when defeated, Victor stands for aye. Our Spring-meeting's fullness swells now, Bearing prophecy Of the Spring whose hope upwells now: Hail, the Northern three!

NORSE NATURE (IN RINGERIKE DURING THE STUDENT MEETING OF 1869) (See Note 39)

We wander and sing with glee Of glorious Norway, fair to see. Let sweetly the tones go twining In colors so softly shining On mountain, forest, fjord, and shore, 'Neath heaven's azure arching o'er.

The warmth of the nation's heart, The depth, the strength, its songs impart, Here opens its eyes to greet you, Rejoicing just now to meet you, And giving, grateful for the chance, In love a self-revealing glance.

Here wakened our history first, Here Halfdan dreamed of greatness erst, In vision of hope beholding The kingdom's future unfolding, And _Nore_ stood and summons gave, While forth to conquest called the wave.

Here singing we must unroll Of our dear land the pictured scroll! Let calm turn to storm of wildness, Bring might into bonds of mildness: Then Norsemen mustering, each shall see This is our land's whole history.

To them first our way we wing, The hundred harbors in the spring, Where follow fond love and yearning, When sea-ward the ships are turning. For Norway's weal pure prayers exhale From sixty thousand men that sail.

See sloping the skerried coasts, With gulls and whales and fishing-posts, And vessels in shelter riding, While boats o'er the sea are gliding, And nets in fjord and seines in sound, And white with spawn the ocean's ground.

See Lofoten's tumult grand, Where tow'ring cliffs in ocean stand, Whose summits the fogs are cleaving, Beneath them the surges heaving, And all is darkness, mystery, dread, But 'mid the tumult sails are spread.

Here ships of the Arctic sea; Through snow and gloom their course must be; Commands from the masthead falling The boats toward the ice are calling; And shot on shot and seal on seal, And souls and bodies strong as steel.

On mountains we now shall guest, When eventide to all brings rest, In dairy on highland meadow, On hay-field 'neath slanting shadow, While to the alphorn's tender tone Great Nature's voice responds alone.

But quickly we must away, If a11 the land we would survey,-- The mines of our metal treasures, The hills of our hunters' pleasures, The foam-white river's rush and noise, The timber-driver's foot-sure poise.

Returning, we linger here, These valleys broad to us are dear, Whose men in their faithful living To Norway are honor giving; Their fathers, strong in brain and brawn, Lent luster to our morning-dawn.

We wander and sing with glee Of glorious Norway fair to see. Our present to labor binds us, Each how of the past reminds us, Our future shall be sure and bright, As God we trust and do the right.

I PASSED BY THE HOUSE (See Note 40)

I passed by the house one summer day, Morning sunshine upon it lay; Toward the windows that blood-red burned Flaming my soul was turned, was turned. There spring had found me And captive bound me To lissome hands and soft lips enthralling, To smiles now stained by the teardrops falling.

Till the view from my vision dies, To it backward I send my eyes; All that was becomes new and near, The forgotten grows warm and dear; Mem'ries wander, While this I ponder, And from the springtime all love's sweet dreaming Forward and back in my soul is streaming.

Joyous that time and joyous now, Sorrow that time and .sorrow now. Sun on meadows bedewed appears, Soul in mem'ries of smiles and tears. When they waking Their bounds are breaking, When streams their ebbing with sinking power, The soul bears poetry's bud and flower.

THOSE WITH ME (See Note 41)

As on I drive, in my heart joy dwells Of Sabbath silence with sound of bells. The sun lifts _all_ that is living, growing, God's love itself in its symbol showing. To church pass people from near and far, Soon psalms ascend from the door ajar. --Good cheer! Your greeting hailed more than me, But that in hastening you failed to see.

Here's goodly company with me riding, Though oft they cunningly keep in hiding; But when you saw me so Sunday-glad, It was because of the mates I had. And when you heard me so softly singing, The tones attuned to their hearts were ringing.

One soul is here of such priceless worth, For me she offered her all on earth; Yes, she who smiled in my boat storm-driven, And blanched not, braving the waves wind-riven, In whose white arms that in love caressed me Full warmth of life and of faith possessed me.

The snail in this I am like when faring,-- My home I ever am with me bearing; And who believes it is burdensome, He ought to learn how it's good to come And creep in under the roof thereafter, Where she gives light amid children's laughter.

No poet paints nor can thinker tell So vast a vault or so deep a well, As where the glory of God's own love On cradle-mirror falls from above. Your soul is brighter, your heart more tender, When by the cradle your thanks you render.

Who knows not love in the small and near, The many in memory hold not dear. Who cannot build him a house his own, What towers he builds will be soon o'erthrown. From Moscow victor to Carthagena, He vanquished dies on his Saint Helena.

When such a stronghold you've reared with labor, It often safely protects your neighbor; Though work of woman's and children's hands, Your soul finds strength where that fortress stands, You go hence braver to battle-dangers, Can courage give unto countless strangers.

One home bore often a whole land's fate, And sent the hero who saved the state; Thousands of _homes_, when the war was o'er, The land delivered in safety bore. So bear it onward in peace and beauty The hearts of homes beating true to duty.

Though foreign perfumes be fine and rare, Still pure alone is the home's sweet air. Naught meets you there but the childlike, truthful, And sin is kissed from your forehead ruthful. To heaven's home leads its door ajar, For thence it came and it lies not far.

Good cheer, to church on your way not staying! For those we love we shall both be praying; In prayer together the way we wander That leads from this to the home up yonder. You enter in; I must journey far, While follow psalms from the door ajar. Good cheer! Your greeting hailed more than me, But that in hastening you failed to see.

TO MY FATHER (UPON HIS RETIREMENT) (See Note 42)

In all the land our race was once excelling. In richer regions it e'en now possesses Broad seats and fruitful; but by fate's hard stresses _Our_ branch was bent and bowed to blows compelling. Now toward the light again it lifts aloft Its top, and fresh buds crown it, fair and soft. The flowing fountain of _your_ faith has laved it, To life's late evening thus your strength has saved it.

As rests the race in time of chill and rigor, And from the deeps that lie within its being Draws to it what alone can nourish, freeing Its powers to full prophecy of vigor,-- So I divined the unseen stir in you Of nature's might that you could not subdue; It was so strong, from sire to son surviving, In mystery mute descends this power's striving.

Upon this poured its radiant warmth pervading My mother's soul; of wedded joy the glory Crowns not alone your aged heads and hoary; But it shall death outlive in light unfading. And if my people ever truly prize The pictured home that in my writings lies, Honor of love and faith serene, unbroken,-- Of father, mother, both, shall praise be spoken.

If men remember the Norwegian peasant, As from the field of toil or saga fateful I conjured him; to you they shall be grateful, Father, in whom love let me find him present. And if the woman whom I made them view In sun-like splendid faith and spirit true, By women is approved, it is the other Who has their homage, my sweet-natured mother.

And now you'll rest the evening long and cheery From the day's work in fair or troubled weather, And of the by-gone time you'll talk together, Of many a mile you trod with footsteps weary,-- Now will as sunlight on the winter's snow, A warmth of thanks in through the window glow, Harsh memories mellow with its golden shining, Your life in faith complete find its refining.

But none gives thanks as now that son in gladness, For whom you lived in anxious fear unceasing, Since forth he flew with strength of wing increasing, For whom to God you prayed in joy and sadness. Oh, know, when hot my blood burned over-much, I felt your soothing hands my forehead touch, And oft, my heart in mute repentance bleeding, In thoughts of you I heard God's gentle pleading.

And so I pray that I may have the power (Since we again for life shall be united, And hope 'mid mirthful mem'ries be relighted), To brighten now their every evening-hour! When children's children in their arms shall be, Oh, let them morning in their evening see! So shall they gladly lay, when death gives warning, Their gray heads down to greet the dawning morning.

TO ERIKA LIE (See Note 43)

When Norse nature's dower Tones will paint with power, There is more than mountain-heights that tower,-- Plains spread wide-extending, Whereon at their wending Summer nights soft dews are sending.

Forests great are growing, And in long waves going Glommen's valley fill to overflowing,-- There are green slopes vernal, Glad with joy fraternal, Open to the light supernal.

For revealing wholly All things fine and holy-- As in sunshine birds are soaring slowly, Or, their spells transmitting, Northern Lights are flitting,-- None but maiden-hands are fitting.

_Your_ hands came, and playing, O'er their secrets straying Picture after picture are portraying, As the poet dreamed them, In soul-travail teemed them, Till your artist hands redeemed them.

Now their light far-flinging We see flashing, swinging, Sparks as from your father's humor springing; Now there meets us nigher, Mirroring the higher, Mother's eye of softer fire.

Child-heart tones are holding All our minds and molding, So its faith the wide world is enfolding, While your sweet sounds sally, Truth to tell and rally, Maiden blonde from Glommen's valley.

+ AT MICHAEL SARS'S GRAVE (See Note 44)

Ever he would roam Toward th' eternal home; From the least life deep in ocean To each gleam of stars in motion, Worth of all he weighed. Now the Lord lends aid.

Still he passed beyond, Softly dreaming; fond Nature met him as her lover. God with strength his soul shall cover 'Mid the starry throng Through the spheres' pure song.

Even here on earth Harmony's sweet birth-- When discovery new truth sunders, When the small reveals its wonders-- Filled his soul with song For the ages long.

Where his watch he kept, Eyes a hundred swept. Where millenniums sand assembled, Where the tiniest life-pulse trembled, There he sought the clue, Silent, wise, and true.

In a water glass Searching he saw pass All the ocean's life; his thinking To unfathomed deeps was sinking; Where lay riddles locked, There he came and knocked.

Fair our fatherland, While such faith shall stand! With an eye so true and tender, With a sense so fine for splendor In the small and still,-- Great ends we fulfil!

TO JOHAN SVERDRUP (See Note 45)

When now my song selects and praises Your forceful name, think not it raises The rallying-flag for battle near; The street-fight shall not reach us here. If sacred poetry's fair hill Lies open to assassination,-- Is _this_ the newer revelation, Then I withdraw and hold me still. Then I the words of Einar borrow, When southern change of kings brought sorrow, And Harald's hosts their ravage spread: I follow rather Magnus dead Than Harald living thus,--and then I sail away with ships and men. Nor therefore do I lift anew The flag of song just now for you, Because my spirit's deepest yearning To you for new light now is turning. No, where the _greatest_ questions started, Just there it is our ways were parted-- From where the deepest thought can reach, To plan and goal of daily speech. My childhood's faith unshaken stands, And thence our equal rights deriving, I for a people free am striving And brotherhood in kindred lands. Though both of us are _Christian_ men, So wide a gulf between us lies; Though both are true _Norwegian_ men, We Norway see with different eyes. If but to-day we victory gain, We must to-morrow fight amain. But now I honor you in singing, Because what ought just now to be With strongest will you clearly see, And foremost to the fight are springing. When sinks the land 'neath heavy fogs And no fair prospect cheers the eye, The thickening air our breathing clogs, Yes, all things dull in torpor lie,-- _Then_ mounts your mind with freest motion, Its thunder-wings the mist-banks driving, Its lightning-talons cloud-walls riving, Till sunlight spreads o'er land and ocean. _You_ are the freshening shower clean Upon our sluggish day's routine. You are the salt sea-current poured Into each close and sultry fjord. Your speech a mine-shaft is, deep-going To where the veins of ore are showing. And by your flashing eyes far-sighted The past is for our future lighted. So long as Sverre's sword you wield, So long as you our hosts are heading, We know we'll win on every field; Foes flee, your battle trumpet dreading. We see their struggling ranks soon rifted, We see them set so many a snare: Your head unharmed in thought's pure air Above the waves of war is lifted. We love you for this courage good, That e'er _before_ the banner stood, We love the strength you boldly stored In your self-forged and tempered sword. Your vigilance we love and prize, That sickness, slander, loss defies, We love you, that at duty's call You gave your peace, your future, all, We love you still--hate cannot cleave!-- Because you dared in us believe. How can they hope that backward here Our land shall go? No, year by year, Forward in freedom and in song, Forward the truly Norse disclosing. What might can now avail, opposing The travail of the centuries long? People and power no more divided; In peace to save or war to kill, Our freedom with _one_ guard provided, _One_ nation only and _one_ will. The spirit of our nation's morn, The unity of free gods dreaming, And all things great to be great deeming, Forever must the spurious scorn. The spirit that impelled the viking 'Gainst kingly power for freedom striking,-- That, threatened, sailed to Iceland strong With hero-fame and hero-song, And further on through all the ages,-- That spirit never dwells in cages. The spirit that at Hjörung broke For thousand years the foreign yoke, By might of king ne'er made to cower, Defying e'en the papal power,-- The spirit that, to weakness worn, Held free our soil with rights unshorn, Held free, with tongue and hand combined, 'Gainst foreign host and foreign mind,-- By which our Holberg's wit was whetted, And Wessel's sword and Wessel's pen, And to whose silent forge indebted The thoughts that armed our Eidsvold-men,-- The spirit that in faith so high Through Odin could to God draw nigh, As bridge the myth of Balder threw, And almost found the free way new To truth's fair home in radiant Gimle, When this was closed and warded grimly By monkish lies and papal speech,-- That threw a second bridge to reach On freedom's lightly soaring arches To heights whereon the free soul marches,-- So, when for Luther blood was shed, The North but razed a fence instead, --The spirit that, when men were deeming True faith in all the world were dead, Brun, Hauge, and their lineage spread, From soul-springs in our nation streaming,-- Though pietism's fog now thickens, Still guards the altar lights and quickens;-- Can _this_ they make the fashion better, By modern bishop-synod's letter? Is _this_ by politics provided, When into "Chambers" 't is divided? Can _this_ into a box be juggled And o'er the boundary be smuggled?

And that just now when beacons lighted On all the mountain-tops are sighted, And when our folk-high-school's young day The Norse heart kindles with its ray, Renewing mem'ries, courage bringing, While they are hearing, trusting, singing;-- Just when the deep in billows surges, Responsive to the tempest's might, And over it the Northern Light Of Youth's refulgent hope emerges;-- Just when the spirit everywhere, While walls lie low as trumpets blare, Is breaking from the ancient forms, And will of youth the heights now storms.

A battle-age,--and we are in it! The greatest thing on earth: to be Where powers that are bursting free, Self-shaping seek their place and win it;-- Our fusing passion all to give, To cast the statue that shall live, To press the mold of our own form On what shall be the future's norm, Into the age's soul thus breathed The spirit God to us bequeathed.

'T was this that now I wished to say To you, who late and early, aye Within time's workshop great are going, What is, what shall be, ever knowing;-- To you, who all our people's might Have roused for freedom new to fight;-- To whom our people gave this power, And sorrow, its eternal dower.

THE CHILD IN OUR SOUL

Toward God in heaven spacious With artless faith a boy looks free, As toward his mother gracious, And top of Christmas-tree. But early in the storm of youth There wounds him deep the serpent's tooth; His childhood's faith is doubted And flouted.

Soon stands in radiant splendor With bridal wreath his boyhood's dream; Her loving eyes and tender The light of heaven's faith stream. As by his mother's knee of yore God's name he stammers yet once more, The rue of tears now paying And praying.

When now life's conflict stirring Leads him along through doubtings wild, Then upward points unerring Close by his side his child. With children he a child is still And whatsoe'er his heart may chill, Prayer for his son is warming, Transforming.

The greatest man in wonder Must ward the child within his breast, And list 'mid loudest thunder Its whisperings unrepressed. Where oft a hero fell with shame, The child it was restored his name, His better self revealing, And healing.

All great things thought created In child-like joy sprang forth and grew; All strength with goodness mated, Obeyed the child's voice true. When beauty in the soul held sway, The child gave it in artless play;-- All wisdom worldly-minded Is blinded.

Hail him, who forward presses So far that he a home is worth For there alone possesses The child-life peace on earth. Though worn we grieve and hardened grow, What solace 't is our home to know With children's laughter ringing And singing.

+ OLE GABRIEL UELAND (See Note 46)

Of long toil 't is a matter Through many a silent age, Before such power can shatter Time-hallowed custom's cage. The soul-fruit of the peasant, Though seldom seed was sown, It is our honor present,-- Our future sure foreknown.

The fjords that earnest waited 'Mid mountain-snows around His childhood's thoughts created And depth of life profound. The highlands' sun that played there On fjord and mountain snow So wide a vision made there As one could wish to know.

When _he_ to Ting repairing Would plead the peasant's right, Each word a beam was bearing. To make our young day bright. It came like ancient story Or long-lost song's refrain; What crowned our past with glory It made our present gain.

Though in his boat a seaman, A farmer in his field, Ne'er finer thoughts did freeman In royal council wield. His years bear witness ready That we shall yet achieve Our people's self-rule steady, He taught us to believe.

When weary, worn, and aged, His faith was ever strong; The people's war he wagèd For victory erelong. Beneath the banner dying, He would not yet give o'er, And him Valkyries flying Home to Valhalla bore.

From wintry night and bitter He was with stately tread In Saga's hall a-glitter Before the high-sear led. Old heroes proud or merry Rising to greet him went, But first of all King Sverre, From whom was his descent.

+ ANTON MARTIN SCHWEIGAARD (IN THE CHURCH AFTER THE FUNERAL ORATION) (See Note 47)

Give us, God, to Thee now turning, Fullness of joy, tears full and burning, Of will the full refining fire! Hear our prayer o'er his inurning: His will was _one_, the whole discerning, His whole soul would to it aspire. Yes; give us yet again, With power to lead, great men,-- Power in counsel our folk to lead, Our folk in deed, Our folk in gladness and in need!

Thou, O God, our want preventest; To raise the temple _him_ Thou lentest, A spirit bright and pure and great. When Thou from time to call him meantest, Her tender soul to him Thou sentest Who went before to heaven's gate. When Thou didst set him free, An epoch ceased to be. Men then marveled, the while they said: "Living and dead, O'er all our land he beauty spread."

Help us, God, to wiser waring, When to our land Thou light art bearing, That we Thy dayspring then may know. God, our future Thou'rt preparing, Oh, give us longing, honor's daring, That we the great may not forego! Thou sentest many out,-- Cease not, our God, nor doubt! Let us follow Thy way, Thy call, Men, words, and all! Thy mercies shall our North enwall!

+ TO AASMUND OLAFSEN VINJE (SUNG AT HIS WIFE'S GRAVE) (See Note 48)

Your house to guests has shelter lent, While you with pen were seated. In silent quest they came and went, You saw them not, nor greeted. But when now they Were gone away, Your babe without a mother lay, And you had lost your helpmate.

The home you built but yesterday In death to-day is sinking, And you stand sick and worn and gray On ruins of your thinking. Your way lay bare Since child you were, The shelter that you first could share Was this that now is shattered.

But know, the guests that to you came In sorrow's waste will meet you; Though shy you shrink, they still will claim The right with love to treat you. For where you go To you they show The world in radiant light aglow Of great and wondrous visions.

What once you saw, now passing o'er, Will but be made the clearer; It is the far eternal shore, That on your way draws nearer. Your poet-sight Will see in light All that the clouds have wrapped in night;-- Great doubts will find an answer.

And later when you leave again The waste of woe thought-pregnant, Whom you have met shall teach us then. Your pen in power regnant. From sorrow's weal With purer zeal, Inspiring light, and pain's appeal Shall shine your wondrous visions.

GOOD CHEER (1870) (See Note 49)

So let these songs their story tell To all who in the Northland dwell, Since many friends request it. (That Finland's folk with them belong In the wide realm of Northern song, I grateful must attest it.)

I send these songs--and now I find Most of them have riot what my mind Has deepest borne and favored: Some are too hasty, some too brief, Some, long in stock, have come to grief, Some with raw youth are flavored.

I lived far more than e'er I sang; Thought, ire, and mirth unceasing rang Around me, where I guested; To be where loud life's battles call For me was well-nigh more than all My pen on page arrested.