Molde or A Meeting, are not merely descriptive; in the
former childhood's memories and the love of friends fill the scene,
while in the latter the freshly and tenderly drawn snow-landscape is but
the setting for a vivid picture of a deceased friend.
The contents of this volume befit the verse-form, as if each were made
by and for the other. The subjects are simple, large, weighty; the form
is compact, strong, suggestive. Björnson is distinctly not subjectively
lyrical, but has a place in the first rank "as a choral lyric poet and as an
epic lyric poet." (Collin.) Georg Brandes wrote of him many years ago:
"In few [fields] has he put forth anything so individual, unforgettable,
imperishable, as in the lyric field."
POEMS AND SONGS
BY
BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON
SYNNOVE'S SONG
(FROM SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN)
Have thanks for all from our childhood's day,
Our play together in
woodland roaming.
I thought that play would go on for aye,
Though life should pass to its gloaming.
I thought that play would go on for aye,
From bowers leading of leafy
birches
To where the Solbakke houses lay,
And where the
red-painted church is.
I sat and waited through evenings long
And scanned the ridge with
the spruces yonder;
But darkening mountains made shadows throng,
And you the way did not wander.
I sat and waited with scarce a doubt:
He'll dare the way when the
sun's descended.
The light shone fainter, was nearly out,
The day in
darkness had ended.
My weary eye is so wont to gaze,
To turn its look it is slow in
learning;
No other landmark it seeks, nor strays,
Beneath the brow
sorely burning.
They name a place where I help may find,
And fain to Fagerli church
would guide me;
But try not thither to move my mind;
He sits there
ever beside me.
--But good it is, that full well I know,
Who placed the houses both
here and yonder,
Then cut a way through the woods so low
And let
my eye on it wander.
But good it is that full well I know,
Who built the church and to pray
invited,
And made them meeting in pairs to go
Before the altar
united.
THE HARE AND THE FOX
(FROM SYNNOVE
SOLBAKKEN)
The fox lay still by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with nimble foot
O'er the heather.
Was ever brighter a sunshine-day,
Before, behind
me, and every way,
O'er the heather!
The fox laughed low by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with daring foot
O'er the heather.
I am so happy for everything!
Hallo! Why go you with mighty spring
O'er the heather?
The fox lay hid by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare dashed to him with reckless foot
O'er the heather.
May God have mercy, but this is queer! --
Good
gracious, how dare you dance so here
O'er the heather?
NILS FINN
(FROM HALTE HULDA)
(see Note 1)
Now little Nils Finn had away to go;
The skis were too loose at both
heel and toe.
--"That's too bad!" rumbled yonder.
Then little Nils Finn in the snow set his feet:
"You ugliest troll, you
shall never me cheat!"
--"Hee-ho-ha!" rumbled yonder.
Nils Finn with his staff beat the snow till it blew
"Your trollship, now
saw you how hapless it flew?"
--"Hit-li-hu!" rumbled yonder.
Nils Finn pushed one ski farther forward with might;
The other held
fast,--he reeled left and right.
--"Pull it up!" rumbled yonder.
Nils' tears wet the snow, while he kicked and he struck;
The more
that he kicked there, the deeper he stuck.
--"That was good!" rumbled
yonder.
The birch-trees, they danced, and the pine-trees said "Hoo!" They more
were than one,--were a hundred and two.
--"Know your way?"
rumbled yonder.
A laugh shook the ridge till it made the snow fly;
But Nils clenched
his fists and he swore 't was a lie.
--"Now beware!" rumbled yonder.
The snow-field yawned wide, and the heavens came low;
Nils
thought 't was now time for him also to go.
--"Is he gone?" rumbled
yonder.--
Two skis in the snow looked about everywhere,
But saw nothing
much; for there was nothing there.
--"Where is Nils?" rumbled
yonder.
THE MAIDENS' SONG
(FROM HALTE HULDA)
Good-morning, sun, 'mid the leaves so green --
Mind of youth in the
dales' deep reaches,
Smile that brightens their somber speeches,
Heaven's gold on our earth-dust seen!
Good-morning, sun, o'er the royal tower!
Kindly thou beckonest forth
each maiden;
Kindle each heart as a star light-laden,
Twinkling so
clear, though a sad night lower!
Good-morning, sun, o'er the mountain-side!
Light the land that still
sleep disguises
Till it awakens and fresh arises
For yonder day in
thy warmth's full tide!
THE DOVE
(FROM HALTE HULDA)
I saw a dove fear-daunted,
By howling storm-blast driven;
Where
waves their power vaunted,
From land it had been riven.
No cry nor
moan it uttered,
I heard no plaint repeated;
In vain its pinions
fluttered --
It had to sink, defeated.
THE MOTHER'S SONG
(FROM ARNE)
Lord! Oh, hold in Thy hand my child,
Guard by the river its playing!
Send Thou Thy Spirit as comrade mild,
Lest it be lost in its
straying!
Deep
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