Poems and Songs | Page 6

is the water and false the ground.
Lord, if His arms
shall the child surround,
Drowned it shall not be, but living,
Till
Thou salvation art giving.
Mother, whom loneliness befalls,
Knowing not where it is faring,

Goes to the door, and its name there calls;
Breezes no answer are
bearing.
This is her thought, that everywhere
He and Thou for it
always care;
Jesus, its little brother,
Follows it home to mother.
LAMBKIN MINE
(FROM ARNE)
Kille, kille, lambkin mine,
Though it often be hard to climb
Over
the rocks upswinging,
Follow thy bell's sweet ringing!
Kille, kille, lambkin mine,
Take good care of that fleece-coat thine!

Sewed to one and another,
Warm it shall keep my mother.
Kille, kille, lambkin mine,
Feed and fatten thy flesh so fine!
Know,
you dear little sinner,
Mother will have it for dinner!
BALLAD OF TAILOR NILS
(FROM ARNE)
If you were born before yesterday,
Surely you've heard about Tailor
Nils, who flaunts him so gay.
If it's more than a week that you've been here,
Surely you've heard
how Knut Storedragen got a lesson severe.
Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin':
"When Nils heaves
you again, take with you some luncheon."
Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned,
Haunting ghosts of his
name spread alarm all around.
"Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare!
On that spot will I
spit and lay your head right there."--

"Oh, just come up so near, that I know you by the scent!
Think not
that by your jaw to earth I shall be bent!"
When first they met, 't was scarce a bout at all,
Neither man was
ready yet to try to get a fall.
The second time Hans Bugge slipped his hold.
"Are you tired now,
Hans Bugge? The dance will soon be bold."
The third time Hans fell headlong, and forth the blood did spurt. "Why
spit you now so much, man?" -- "Oh my, that fall did hurt!"--
Saw you a tree casting shadows on new-fallen snow?
Saw you Nils
on a maiden smiling glances bestow?
Have you seen Tailor Nils when the dance he commences?
Are you a
maiden, then go!--It's too late, when you've lost your senses.
VENEVIL
(FROM ARNE)
(See Note 2)
Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"
And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I
little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue:
"My eyes for you!"
He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend:
"Good-by, my friend!"
And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant
end:

"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I
little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care
For my golden hair?"
She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare
Her red lips' pair;
He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed
as she did there.
She twined one all white as a lily-band:
"'T is my right hand."
She twined one blood-red, with her love in
each strand:
"'T is my left hand."
He took them both and kept them both, but
would not understand.
She twined of the flowers that bloomed around
"Every one I found!"
She gathered and twined, while tears would her
eyes fill:
"Take them you will!"
In silence then he took them, but to flight he
turned him still.
She twined one so large, of discordant hue:
"My bride's-wreath true!"
She twined it and twined, till her fingers
were sore:
"Crown me, I implore!"
But when she turned, he was not there, she
never saw him more.
She twined yet undaunted without a stay
At her bride's-array.
But now it was long past the Midsummer Day,

All the flowers away:
She twined it of the flowers, though they all
were now away!
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I
little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
OVER THE LOFTY MOUNTAINS
(FROM ARNE)
(See Note
3)
Wonder I must, what I once may see
Over the lofty mountains!

Eyes shall meet only snow, may be;
Standing here, each evergreen
tree
Over the heights is yearning;--
Will it be long in learning?
Pinions strong bear the eagle away
Over the lofty mountains
Forth
to the young and vigorous day;
There he exults in the swift, wild play,

Rests where his spirit orders,--
Sees all the wide world's borders.
Full-leaved the apple-tree wishes naught
Over the lofty mountains!

Spreading, when summer hither is brought,
Waiting till next time in
its thought;
Many a bird it is swinging,
Knowing not what they are
singing.
He who has longed for twenty years
Over the lofty mountains,
He
who knows that he never nears,
Smaller feels with the lapsing years,

Heeds what the bird is singing
Cheerily to its swinging.
Garrulous bird, what will you here
Over the lofty mountains?

Surely your nest was there less drear,
Taller the trees, the outlook
clear;--
Will you then only bring me
Longings, but naught