Chapter 8

Oh, when will you stand forth? This detraction through years For my people has made me an oaf, Hides my poetry's fount in the fog of its fleers, So it merely a pool of self-worship appears; Like a clumsy troll I Am contemned with affront, Whom all "cultured" folk fly, Or yet gather to hunt, That their hunger of hate at a feast they may blunt.

When I publish a book: "It is half like himself;" If I speak, 't is for vanity's sake. What I build in the stage-world of fancy's free elf Is but formed from my fatuous self. When for faith I contend And our land's ancient ways, When the bridge I defend From our fathers' great days, 'Tis because my poor breast no king's "Order" displays.

Oh, when will you stand forth, who shall sunder in twain All this slander so stifling and foul, And shall sink in the sea all the terror insane That they have of heart-passion and will-wielding brain,-- And with love shall enfold A soul's faith wide and deep, That in want and in cold Would its morning-watch keep Undismayed, till the light all the host shall ensweep?

Come, thou Spirit of Norway, God-given of yore In the stout giant-conquering Thor! While the lightning thou ridest, thy answer's loud roar Drowns the din that the dwarfs in defiance outpour; Thou canst waken with might All our longings to soar, Thou canst strengthen in right What united we swore, When at Hafur thy standard in honor we bore.

Hail, thou Spirit of Norway! To think but of thee Makes so small all the small things I felt. To thy coming I hallow me, wholly to thee, And I humbly look up to thy face, unto thee, And I pray for a song With thy tongue's stirring sound, That I true may and strong In the crisis be found, To rouse heroes for thee on our forefathers' ground.

AT HANSTEEN'S BIER (1873) (See Note 60)

God, we thank Thee for the dower Thou gavest Norway in his power, Whom in the grave we now shall lay! Starlit paths of thoughts that awe us His spirit found; his deeds now draw us To deeds, as mighty magnets play. He was the first to stand A light in our free land; Of our present the first fair crown, The first renown, At Norway's feet he laid it down.

We his shining honors sharing, And humble now his body bearing, Shall sing with all the world our praise. God, who ever guides our nation, Hath called us to a high vocation And shown where He our goal doth raise. People of Norway, glad Go on, as God us bade! God has roused you; He knows whereto, Though we are few. With Him our future we shall view.

RALLYING SONG FOR FREEDOM IN THE NORTH TO "THE UNITED LEFT" (Tirol, 1874) (See Note 61)

Dishonored by the higher, but loved by all the low,-- Say, is it not the pathway that the new has to go? By those who ought to guard it betrayed, oh yes, betrayed,-- Say, is it not thus truth ever progress has made?

Some summer day beginning, a murmur in the grain, It grows to be a roaring through the forests amain, Until the sea shall bear it with thunder-trumpets' tone, Where nothing, nothing's heard but it alone, it alone.

With Northern allies warring we take the Northern For God and for our freedom--is the watchword we bring. That God, who gave us country and language, and all, We find Him in our doing, if we hear and heed His call.

That doing we will forward, we many, although weak, 'Gainst all in fearless fighting, who the truth will not seek:-- Some summer day beginning, a murmur in the grain, It goes now as a roaring through the forests amain.

'T will grow to be a storm ere men think that this can be, With voice of thunder sweeping o'er the infinite sea. What nation God's call follows, earth's greatest power shall show, And carry all before it, though it high stand or low.

AT A BANQUET GIVEN TO THE DEPUTATION OF THE SWEDISH RIKSDAG TO THE CORONATION, IN TRONDHJEM, JULY 17, 1873 (See Note 62)

You chosen men we welcome here From brothers near. We welcome you to Olaf's town That Norway's greatest mem'ries crown, Where ancient prowess looking down With searching gaze, The question puts to sea and strand: Are men now in the Northern land Like yesterday's?

'T is well, if on the battlefield Our "Yes" is sealed! 'T is well, if now our strength is steeled To grasp our fathers' sword and shield And in life's warfare lift and wield For God and home! For us they fought; 't is now our call To raise for them a temple-hall, Fair freedom's dome.

List to the Northern spirit o'er Our sea and shore! Here once high thoughts in word were freed, In homely song, in homely deed; And ever shall the selfsame need That spirit sing: Heed not things trivial, foreign, new; Alone th' eternal, Northern, true Can harvest bring.

O brother-band, this faith so dear Has brought us here? The spirit of the North to free, Our common toil and prayer shall be, Those greater days again to see,-- As once before, Of home and trust a message strong To send the warring world we long Forevermore.

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!

+ PER BO (1878)

Once I knew a noble peasant From a line of men large-hearted. Light and strength were in his mind, Lifted like a peak clear-lined O'er the valley in spring sunshine, First to feel the morning's beam, First refreshed by cloud-born stream.

Wide the springtime spread its banner, Waving in his will illumined, Bright with promise, color-sound; Heritage of toil its ground. Round that mountain music floated, Songsters sweet of faith and hope Nestled on its tree-clad slope.

Sometime, sometime all the valley Like him shall with light be flooded; Sometime all his faith and truth Sunward grow in dewy youth, And the dreams he dreamt too early Live and make him leader be For a race as true as he.

HAMAR-MADE MATCHES (1877) (See Note 65)

"Here your Hamar-made matches!"-- Of them these verses I sang; A thought to which humor attaches, But yet to my heart sparks sprang.

Sparks from the box-side flying Sank deep in my memory, Till in a light undying Two eyes cast their spell on me,--

Light on the fire that's present, When faith blazes forth in deed. Know, that to every peasant Those eyes sent a light in need.

Sent to souls without measure The flame of love's message broad, Gathering in one treasure Fatherland, home, and God.

For it was Herman Anker Took of his fathers' gold, Loaned it as wisdom's banker, Spread riches of thought untold,

Scattered it wide as living Seed for the soil to enwrap; Flowers spring from his giving Over all Norway's lap.

Flowers spring forth, though stony The ground where it fell, and cold. Never did patrimony Bear fruitage so many fold.

Heed this, Norwegian peasant, Heed it, you townsman, too! That fruit of love's seed may be present, Our thanks must fall fresh as dew.

"Here your Hamar-made matches!" My thanks kindle fast. And oh! This song at your heart-strings catches, That kindling your thanks may glow.

The matches hold them in hiding,-- Scratching one you will find The light with a warmth abiding Carries them to his mind.

"Here your Hamar-made matches!" Only to strike one here, Our thanks far-away dispatches, With peace his fair home to cheer.

His matches in thousands of houses, In great and in small as well!-- The light that thanksgiving arouses Shall scatter the darkness fell.

His matches in thousands of houses!-- Some eve from his factory He'll see how thanksgiving arouses The land, and its love flames free.

He'll see in the eyes so tender, Through gleams that his matches woke, The thanks that his nation would render, His glistening wreath of oak,--

He'll feel that Norway with double The warmth of other lands glows; The harvest must more be than trouble, When faith in its future grows.

"Here your Hamar-made matches!" No phosphorus-poison more! The bearer of light up-catches The work of the school before:--

From home all the poison taking, Hastening the light's advance, Longings to warm light waking, That lay there and had no chance.

THEY HAVE FOUND EACH OTHER (FROM THE DRAMA THE KING, THIRD INTERLUDE)

Mute they wander, Meeting yonder, In the wondrous Spring new-born, That though old as Time's first morn, Brings fresh youth to all the living, Now held fast, now far retreating, But through hearts in oneness beating Ever fullest bloom is giving. Mute they wander. E'en the eye Speaks no thought. For from on high To their souls sweet strains have spoken From the wide world's harmony, Born of light, the darkness broken, In the dawn of things to be. Power crowned-- Earth around Like a sun-song rolled the sound. Mute they wander. Sweet strains ending-- Eye nor tongue dares yet the lending Speech to thought. But lo! quick blending, All things speak! They sound and shimmer, Bloom in fragrance, ring and glimmer, Tint and tone combining, nearer, Meet as one-with all their thinking In one beauty, higher, clearer,-- Heaven itself to earth is sinking.

But in this great hour of trysting Life is opened, its course brightened, Growth eternal calls, enlisting Every spirit-power heightened.

THE PURE NORWEGIAN FLAG (Note: That is, without the mark of union with Sweden.) (See Note 66)

I Tri-colored flag, and pure, Thou art our hard-fought cause secure; Thor's hammer-mark of might Thou bearest blue in Christian white, And all our hearts' red blood To thee streams its full flood.

Thou liftest us high when life's sternest, Exultant, thou oceanward turnest; Thy colors of freedom are earnest That spirit and body shall never know dearth.-- Fare forth o'er the earth!

II "The pure flag is but pure folly," You "wise" men maintain for true. But the flag is the truth poetic, The folly is found in you. In poetry upward soaring, The nation's immortal soul With hands invisible carries The flag toward the future goal. That soul's every toil and trial, That soul's every triumph sublime, Are sounding in songs immortal,-- To their music the flag beats time. We bear it along surrounded By mem'ry's melodious choir, By mild and whispering voices, By will and stormy desire. It gives not to others guidance, Can not a Swedish word say; It never can flaunt allurement:-- Clear the foreign colors away!

III The sins and deceits of our nation Possess in the flag no right; The flag is the high ideal In honor's immortal light. The best of our past achievements, The best of our present prayers, It takes in its folds from the fathers And bears to the sons and heirs; Bears it all pure and artless, By tokens that tempt us unmarred, Is for our will's young manhood Leader as well as guard.

IV They say: "As by rings of betrothal We are by the flag affied!" But Norway is _not_ betrothèd, She _is_ no one's promised bride. She shares her abode with no one, Her bed and her board to none yields, Her will is her worthy bridegroom, Herself rules her sea, her fields. Our brother to eastward honors This independence of youth. _He_ knows well that by it only Our wreath can be won in truth. When we from the flag are taking His colors, _he_ knows 't is no whim, But merely because we are holding Our honor higher than him. And none who himself has honor Will seek him a different friend; Our life we can for him offer, But naught of our flag can lend.

V TO SWEDEN Respectful I seek a hearing, With trust in your temper sane, And plead now our cause before you In words that are calm and plain:

If, Sweden, _you_ were the smaller, Were young your freedom's renown, Had _your_ flag a mark of union That pressed you still farther down By saying that you, as little, Were set at the greater's board (For this is the mark's real meaning, By no one on earth ignored), Yes, if it were you,--and your freedom Not hallowed by age, but young, And a century's want and weakness Still heavy in memory hung, The soul of your nation harrowed By old injustice and need, By luckless labor and longing, --And did you its meaning heed; Yes, if it were you, whose duty To teach your people were tried, To honor their new-born freedom, To find in their flag their guide: Would longer you suffer it sundered, Leave foreign a single field? Would you not claim it unplundered, Your independence to shield? Would not to yourself you say then: "If one has high lineage long, If greater his colors' glory, The more alluring his song. Oh, tempt not him who from trouble Is rising with new found might; With pure marks direct him, rather, To honor's exalted height."

Thus _you_ would speak, elder hero, If _you_ in _our_ home abode; Your wont is the way of honor, You fare on the forward road. From eighteen hundred and fourteen, And down to the latest day, So oft for our independence We stood like the stag at bay, Brave men have risen among you, And scorning the strife that swelled Have talked for our cause high-minded, Like Torgny to them of eld.

VI ANSWER TO THE AGED RIDDERSTAD

You say, it is "knightly duty," The fight for the flag to share,-- I hold you full high in honor, But--_that_ is our own affair! For just because we encounter The storm-blasts of slander stark, It's "knightly duty" to free now The flag from the marring mark. The "parity" that mark preaches Flies false over all the seas; A pan-Scandinavian Sweden Can never our nation please. From "knightly duty" the smaller Must say: I am not a part; The mark of my freedom and honor Is whole for my mind and heart. From "knightly duty" the greater Must say: A falsehood's fair sign Can give me no special honor, No longer shall it be mine. For both it is "knightly duty," With flags that are pure, to be A warring world's bright example Of peoples at peace, proud and free.

TO MISSIONARY SKREFSRUD IN SANTALISTAN (See Note 67)

I honor you, who, though refused, affronted, Have heard the voice, and victory have won; I honor you, who still by malice hunted, Show miracles of faith and power done.

I honor you, God-thirsting soul so driven, 'Mid scorn and need the spirit's war to wage; I honor you, by Gudbrand's valley given, And of her sons the foremost in this age.

I do not share your faith, your daring dreaming; This parts us not, the spirit's paths are broad. For, all things great and noble round us streaming, I worship them, because I worship God.

POST FESTUM (See Note 68)

A man in coat of ice arrayed Stood up once by the Arctic Ocean; The whole earth shook with proud emotion And honor to the giant paid.

A king came, to him climbing up, An Order in his one hand bearing: "Who great become, this sign are wearing." --The growling giant said but "Stop!"

The frightened king fell down again, Began to weep with features ashen: "My Order is in this rude fashion Refused by just the greatest men.

"My dear man, take it, 't is but fit, Of your king's honor be the warder; On your breast greater grows the Order, And we who bear it, too, by it."--

The Arctic giant was too good,-- A foible oft ascribed to giants, Who foolish trust in little clients,-- He took it,--while we mocking stood.

But all the kings crept to him then, And each his Order brought, to know it Thereby renewed and greater, so it Gave rank to needy noblemen.

_Honi soit_ ... and all the rest; Soon Orders covered all his breast. But oh! they greater grew no tittle, And he grew so confounded little.

ROMSDAL (See Note 69)

Come up on deck! The morning is clear,-- Memory wakes, as the landmarks appear. How many the islands, green and cheery, The salt-licking skerries, weed-wound, smeary! On this side, on that side, they frolic before us, Good friends, but wild,--in frightened chorus Sea-fowl shriek round us, a flying legion. We are in a region Of storms historic, unique for aye.

We fare the fishermen's venturesome way! Far out the bank and the big fish shoaling, The captain narrates; and just now unrolling Sails run to shore a swift racing match;-- Good is the catch.

Yes, yes,--I recognize them again, Romsdal's boats' weather-beaten men. They _know_ how to sail, when need's at hand.

But I'm forgetting to look towards land! -- -- -- It whelms the sight Like lightning bright,-- In memory graven, but not so great.

Wherever I suffer my eyes to wander, Stand mountain-giants, both here and yonder, The loin of one by the other's shoulder, Naught else to where earth and sky are blending. The dread of a world's din daunts the beholder; The silence vastens the vision unending.

Some are in white and others in blue, With pointed tops that emulous tower; Some mass their power, In marching columns their purpose pursue. Away, you small folk!--In there "The Preacher" In high assembly the service intoning Of magnates primeval, their patriarch owning! Of what does he preach, my childhood's teacher? So often, so often to him I listened, In eager worship, devout and lowly; My songs were christened In light that fell from his whiteness holy.

-- How great it is! I can finish never. Great thoughts that in life and legend we treasure Stream towards the scene in persistent endeavor, The mighty impression to grasp and measure,-- Dame's hell, India's myth-panorama, Shakespeare's earth-overarching drama, Aeschylus' thunders that purge and free, Beethoven's powerful symphony,-- They widen and heighten, they cloud and brighten --Like small ants scrambling and soft-cooing doves, They tumble backward and flee affrighted;-- As if a dandy in dress-coat and gloves The mountains approached and to dance invited. No, tempt them not! Their retainer be! You'll learn then later, How life with the great must make you greater.

If you are humble, they'll say it themselves, That something is greater than e'en their greatest. Look how the little river that delves High in the notch within limits straitest, Through ice first burrowed and stone, a brook, Slowly the giants asunder wearing! Unmoved before, their face now and bearing They had to change 'mid the spring-flood's laughter; Millions of years have followed thereafter, Millions of years it also took. In stamps the fjord now to look on their party, Lifts his sou'-wester, gives greeting to them. Whoever at times in their fog could view them Has seen him near to their very noses;-- The fjord's not famed for his well-bred poses.

Towards him hurry, all white-foam-faced, Brooks and rivers in whirling haste, All of his family, frolicsome, naughty. If ever the mountains the fjord would immure, Their narrows press nigher, a prison sure;-- His water-hands then with a gesture haughty Seize the whole saucy pass like a shell; Set to his mouth, he begins to blow it With western-gale-lungs,--and then you may know it, Loud is the noise, and the swift currents swell.

Forcing the coast, a big fjord, black and gray, Breaks us our way; Waterfalls rushing on both sides rumble. Sponge-wet and slow, Cloud-masses over the mountain-flanks fumble; The sun and mist, lo, Symbol of struggle eternal show.

This is my Romsdal's unruly land! Home-love rejoices.

All things I see, have eyes and have voices. The people? I know them, each man understand, Though never I saw him nor with him have spoken; I know this folk, for the fjord is their token.

_One_ is the fjord in the storm's battle-fray, _Another_ is he when the sunbeams play In midsummer's splendor, And radiant, happy his heart is tender. Whatever has form, He bears on his breast with affection warm, Mirrors it, fondles it,-- Be it so bare as the mossy gray rubble, Be it so brief as a brook's fleeting bubble.

Oh, what a brightness! Beauty, soul-ravishing, Shines from his prayer, that now he be shriven Of all the past! And penitence lavishing, All he confesses; with glad homage given Mirrors and masses Deep the mountains' high peaks and passes.

The old giants think now: He's not really bad; In greater degree he's wrathful and glad Than others perchance; is false not at all, But reckless, capricious,--true son of Romsdal.

Right are the mountains! This race-type keeping, _They_ saw men creeping Over the ridges, scant fodder reaping. _They_ saw men eager Toil on the sea, though their take was meager, Plow the steep slope and trench the bog-valley, To bouts with the rock the brown nag rally. Saw their faults flaunted,-- Buck-like they bicker, Love well their liquor,-- But know not defeat,--hoist the sail undaunted!

Different the districts; but all in all: Spirits vivacious, with longings that spur them, Depths full of song, with billows that stir them, Folk of the fjord and the sudden squall.