Chapter III (2)

KAARE
What drives the fierce dragon to ride the foam,
While billows with blood are red?
The sea-fowl are shrieking, they seek their home,
And hover around my head.

ALL
God aid thee here, our earl,
God aid thee here, our earl,
It is Helga, who comes unto Orkney.

KAARE
What maiden so strange to the strand draws nigh,
In light with soft music nears?
What is it that makes all the flowers die,
What fills all your eyes with tears?

ALL
God aid thee here, our earl,
God aid thee here, our earl,
It is Helga, who comes unto Orkney.

IVAR INGEMUNDSON'S LAY (FROM SIGURD SLEMBE) (See Note 15)

Wherefore have I longings, When to live them strength is lacking? And wherefore see I, If I see but sorrow?

Flight of my eye to the great and distant Dooms it to gales of darkening doubt; But fleeing backward to the present, It's prisoned in pain and pity.

For I see a land with no leader, I see a leader with no land. The land how heavy-laden The leader how high his longing!

Might the men but know it, That he is here among them! But they see a man in fetters, And leave him to lie there.

Round the ship a storm is raging, At the rudder stands a fool. Who can save it? He, who below the deck is longing, Half-dead and in fetters.

(Looking upward)

Hear how they call Thee And come with arms uplifted! They have their savior at hand, And Thou sayest it never?

Shall they, then, all thus perish, Because the one seems absent? Wilt Thou not let the fool die, That life may endure in many?

What means that solemn saying: _One_ shall suffer for many? But many suffer for one. Oh, what means it?

The wisdom Thou gavest Wearies me with guesswork. The light Thou hast dealt me Leads me to darkness.

Not me alone, moreover, But millions and millions! Space unending spans not all the questions From earth here and up toward heaven.

Weakness cowers in walls of cloisters, But wills of power press onward, And thronging, with longing, They thrust one another out of the lands.--

Whither? Before their eyes is night, "In Nazareth a light is set!" one says aloud, A hundred thousand say it; All see it now: To Nazareth!

But the half-part perish from hunger by the wayside, The other half by the sword of the heathen, The pest awaits the pilgrim in Nazareth,-- Wast Thou there, or wast Thou not there?

Oh, where art Thou? The whole world now awakens, And on the way is searching And seeking after Thee!

Or wast Thou in the hunger? Wast Thou in the pest? Wast Thou in the sword of the heathen?

Saltest Thou with the salt of wrath? Refinest Thou with suffering's fire? Hast Thou millions of millions hidden in Thy future, Whom Thou thus wilt save to freedom?

Oh, to them are the thousands that now suffer But _one_, And that one I would beseech Thee for-- Nothing!

I follow a little brook And find it leads to an ocean, I see here a little drop, And swelling in mist it mounts a mighty cloud.

See, how I'm tossed so will-less By troublous waves of doubt, The wind overturned my little boat, The wreck is all my refuge.

Lead me, lead me, I see nowhere land! Lift me, lift me, I nowhere footing find!

MAGNUS THE BLIND (FROM SIGURD SLEMBE) (See Note 16)

"Oh, let me look once again and see Starlight the heavens o'ersweeping!" Begged young Magnus on bended knee, It was sore to see. All the women afar were weeping.

"Oh, till to-morrow! The mountains to see And ocean its blue displaying, Only once, and then let it be!" Thus he bent the knee, While his friends for mercy were praying.

"Oh, in the church let God's blood so bright Be the last blessing that greets me! It shall bathe with a flood of light Through eternal night My eyes, when the darkness meets me!"

Deep sank the steel, and each seeing eye Lightning-like night had swallowed. "Magnus, King Magnus, good-by, good-by!" --"Oh, good-by, good-by,-- You who eighteen summers me followed!"

SIN, DEATH (FROM SIGURD SLEMBE) (See Note 17)

Sin and Death, those sisters two, Two, two, Sat together while dawned the morning. Sister, marry! Your house will do, Do, do, For me, too, was Death's warning.

Sin was wedded, and Death was pleased, Pleased, pleased, Danced about them the day they married; Night came on, she the bridegroom seized, Seized, seized, And away with her carried.

Sin soon wakened alone to weep, Weep, weep. Death sat near in the dawn of morning: Him you love, I love too and keep, Keep, keep. He is here, was Death's warning.

FRIDA (See Note 18)

Frida, I knew that thy life-years were counted. If but before thee a lifting thought mounted, Upward thy gaze turned all wistful to view it, As wouldst thou pursue it.

Eyes that so clear saw the wonderful vision Looked far away beyond earth's indecision. Snow-white unfolded the pinions that later Bore thee to the greater.

Speaking or asking thou broughtest me sorrow; Eyes thine and words thine seemed wanting to borrow Clearness more pure and thoughts, victory gaining Beyond my attaining.

When thou wert dancing in all a child's lightness, Shaking thy locks like a fountain in brightness, Laughing till heaven was opened in gladness Over thy gladness,--

Or when affliction in sternness had spoken, So that thy heart in that moment seemed broken, Far from thy thoughts in thy suffering riven Were both earth and heaven,--

Then, oh, I saw then: thy joy and thy grieving Ever the bounds of the mortal were cleaving. All seems so little where silent we ponder,-- But room they have yonder.

BERGEN (See Note 19)

As thou sittest there
Skerry-bound and fair,
Mountains high around and ocean's deep before thee,
On thee casts her spell
_Saga_, that shall tell
Once again the wonders of our land.

Honor is thy due,
"Bergen never new,"
Ancient and unaging as thy Holberg's humor;
Once kings sought thine aid,--
Mighty now in trade,--
First to fly the flag of liberty.

Oft in proud array,
As a sunshine-day
Breaks forth from thy rain and fog wind-driven,
Thou didst come with men
Or great deeds again,
When the clouds were darkest o'er our land.

Thy soul was the ground,
Wit-enriched and sound,
Whence there sprang stout thoughts to make our country's harvest,
Whence our arts exist,
In their birth-hour kissed
By thy nature, somber, large, and strong.

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!

Courage is failing,
Hoar frost assailing
Boughs of your longing surrounds with its spell.
But I dare enter,
Break to the center,
Where in dream-fetters you dwell.

SONG FOR THE STUDENTS' GLEE CLUB (See Note 29)

Now, brothers, sing out our song, Whose train of light shall follow long! With love are its measures beating And victory's joyous greeting, While round about it flower-seeds In will of youth shall grow to deeds!

Our song has gone far and. wide, Bright mem'ries on our way abide, In flags flying, friends that love us, In wreaths from fair hands above us, In feasts where youth's full spirits stream, Our nation's past, our nation's dream.

At _Hald_ on a sunny day That shot-torn flag of many a fray Was waving above our singing, Soul-fire to our music bringing, The ardor of that glorious band, Who died as heroes for our land.

To _Arendal_ our summer-way "For might and fame!"--remember aye! The fleet on the bay was riding, Our singer-ship through it gliding. Our merchant-ships shall rule the wave! This joyous hoisting-song we gave.

We gathered in _Bergen_ town Of ancient and of new renown. The horns of our fathers greet us, King Sverre comes forth to meet us; But fresh and full the present spoke In heartfelt song from all its folk.

_Upsala, Copenhagen, Lund,_ In each our song its garland won, Fair fetters of music winding, Harmonious the Northland binding; Our mighty choral theme shall be _The Northern races' unity._

With courage, then, onward roam! Where echo answers is our home. Our past that we sing draws nearer, Our future in song grows clearer, E'en while we wander hand in hand And summer sing into our land.

+ MRS. LOUISE BRUN (JANUARY 30, 1866) (See Note 30)

CHORUS _(Behind the scenes)_ Farewell, farewell, From friends, from all, from fatherland! Your soul's calm power is from us riven, Your words, your song, to spirit's praise In art's glad temple given.

CHORUS OF MEN We thank you that with youthful fire You came the doubting to inspire, Who anxious stood with strength untried!

CHORUS OF WOMEN We thank you that in morning-dawn Your woman's tact and aid were drawn Our boisterous youthful art to guide!

ALL Thanks for the spring of your life's year, Thanks for the tones so sweet and clear, Thanks for the tints of pearly hue, That colored all you touched anew. For all your noble life on earth, Thanks, thanks! And that you gave our calling worth, Thanks, thanks!