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Poems and Songs, by Bjornstjerne Bjornson |
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TO JOHAN SVERDRUP (See Note 45) |
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_ 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 A battle-age,--and we are in it! 'T was this that now I wished to say |