THE WHITE ROSE AND THE RED ROSE

The white rose and the red rose, So sisters two were named, yes, named. The white one was so quiet, The red one laughed and flamed. But different was their doing, yes, When came the time of wooing, yes. The white one turned so red, so red, The red one turned so white.

For him the red one favored, Him father would not bless, not bless. But him the white one favored, He got at once his "Yes." The red one now was paling, yes, With sorrow, psalms, and wailing, yes. The white one turned so red, so red, The red one turned so white.

Then father grew so fearful And had to give his "Yes," oh, yes! With songs and music cheerful The wedding rang, oh, yes! And soon sprang children rosen, yes, In shoes and little hosen, yes. The red one's, they were white,—and oh, The white one's, they were red.

YOUTH Mood of youth, Mood of youth, Eagle-like must seek the blue, Dauntlessly its course pursue, All the mountain-heights must view. Blood of youth, Blood of youth, Steam-like puts full-speed to sea, E'en though storm and ice there be, Makes its way and romps in glee. Dream of youth, Dream of youth, Rogue-like stealing sets its snare In the maiden's morning-prayer; All the springtime, fragrant, glowing, In its airy waves is flowing. Joy of youth, Joy of youth, Waterfall-like foams in truth, Laughing, rainbow-gifts forth flashing, Even while to death 't is dashing. Joy of youth, Dream of youth, Blood of youth, Mood of youth, Clothe the world with colors golden, Singing songs that never olden.

THE BLONDE MAIDEN

Though she depart, a vision flitting, If I these thoughts in words exhale: I love you, you blonde maiden, sitting Within your pure white beauty's veil. I love you for your blue eyes dreaming, Like moonlight moving over snow, And 'mid the far-off forests beaming On something hid I may not know.

I love this forehead's fair perfection Because it stands so starry-clear, In flood of thought sees its reflection And wonders at the image near. I love these locks in riot risen Against the hair-net's busy bands; To free them from their pretty prison Their sylphs entice my eyes and hands.

I love this figure's supple swinging In rhythm of its bridal song, Of strength and life-joy daily singing With youthful yearnings deep and long. I love this foot so lightly bearing The glory of sure victory Through youth's domain of merry daring To meet first-love that hers shall be.

I love these hands, these lips enchanting, With them the God of love's allied, With them the apple-prize is granting, But guards them, too, lest aught betide. I love you and must say it ever, Although you heed not what you've heard, But flee and answer: maidens never May put their trust in poet's word.

THE FIRST MEETING (FROM THE FISHER MAIDEN)

The first fond meeting holy Is like the woodbirds' trilling, Is like a sea-song thrilling, When red the sun sinks slowly,— Is like a horn on mountain, That wakes time's sleep thereunder And summons to life's fountain To meet in nature's wonder.

GOOD-MORNING (FROM THE FISHER MAIDEN)

Day's coming up now, joy's returned, Sorrow's dark cloud-castles captured and burned; Over the mountain-tops glowing Light-king his armies is throwing. "Up now, up now!" calls the bird, "Up now, up now!" child-voice heard, Up now my hope in sunshine. "

MY FATHERLAND (FROM THE FISHER MAIDEN)

I will fight for my land, I will work for my land, Will it foster with love, in my faith, in my child. I will eke every gain, I will seek boot for bane, From its easternmost bound to the western sea wild.

Here is sunshine enough, Here is seed-earth enough, If by us, if by us all love's duty were done. Here is will to create; Though our burdens be great, We can lift up our land, if we all lift as one.

In the past we went wide O'er the sea's surging tide, And the Norman's high walls stand on many a shore. But our flag flies its way Ever farther to-day And is red with life's vigor as never before.

Great our future shall be; For the Northern lands three Shall unite once again and their true selves shall know. Give your strength and your deed, Where you nearest see need, As a brook to the river that forward shall flow.

Yes, this land where we dwell, Oh, we love it so well, All was, all it is, all it can be again. As our love had its birth In this homeland's dear earth, Shall the seed of our love bring it increase again.

CHOICE (See Note 33)

April for me I choose! In it the old things tumble, In it things new refresh us; It makes a mighty rumble,— But peace is not so precious As that his will man shows.

April for me I choose, Because it storms and scourges, Because it smiles and blesses, Because its power purges, Because it strength possesses,— In it the summer grows.

NORWEGIAN SEAMEN'S SONG (FOR THE STAVANGER REGATTA, 1868) (See Note 34)

Norwegian seamen are A folk grown strong 'neath sail and spar; Where boats can find a way, The best men there are they. On high seas or at home, In calm or when the storm-waves comb, To God their prayer they make, Their lives they gladly stake.

Incessant is their strife, They wage with death a war for life, And dear their souls they sell In conflicts none can tell. All that is commonplace In history seldom leaves its trace, And often none is there, The tidings home to bear.

But fishing-boats in need Have shown so many a daring deed Of courage fine and skill, Though unrecorded still. And many a seaman's head A wreath of sea-weed wore when dead, Whose name should shine in gold Among great heroes bold.

Saint Olaf's Cross's praise Would on that pilot fitly blaze Who saved a hundred men, And hundred once again. To many a boy so young, Who riding home to boat's keel clung, His father set on board, We honor should accord.

In Norway's mountain-coast Our land's own mother-breast we boast, With food for us and tears For sons whom danger nears. In it each deed has lot, And there no brave son is forgot, From Hafurfjord's great day To the last castaway.

This each one felt and found Who homeward came and looked around; This each one felt who went, In the last look he sent. They felt the ocean o'er: Their ships our country's fortune bore; Honor and power it sought,— And these the white sails brought.

Hurrah for them to-day Who the Norwegian flag display! Hurrah for pilots true Who forth to meet them flew! Hurrah for them who ply Their fishing-boats 'twixt sea and sky! Hurrah for all our boast, Our skerry-skirted coast!

HALFDAN KJERULF (1868) (See Note 35)

Winter had sought his life's tree to o'erthrow, Youthful and strong. But his blood's vernal flow Saved it from death through the cold and the maiming; Late in the summer bright flowers were flaming, Late in the autumn they swelled to completeness,— Fruits that were few, but of fragrance and sweetness.

Poets received them to endless seed-sowing, Where for his folk endless summer is glowing,— While more and more, Stricken he hung o'er the death-river's shore, Fighting in weakness the winter abhorred, Fighting for summer, the singer's reward, Fighting while failing, with modesty rare, Soon but in prayer.

Summer received him! He now is victorious! Now, while they harvest the yellowing corn, Now, while the hills hear the notes of the horn, He enters glorious.

Mirrored in him is true poetry's force, Marked by our winter, in summer its source. E'en as the air with its quivering sheen, Leaves of the forests and red peaks serene, Waters that wander 'mid meadows delaying Sound with the music the sunshine is playing,— Poetry also shall leap with new life, If it, though failing, is faithful in strife:— Leap from death's thronging:— Soon comes the summer with summer's pure longing.

NORWEGIAN STUDENTS' GREETING WITH A PROCESSION

TO PROFESSOR WELHAVEN (See Note 36)

Hear us, O age-laden singer! Streams of your tones are returning, Touching your heart! Spirit of youth is their bringer, Under your window with yearning Called by your art. Now our soul's echoes abounding Soar in the blue, In the sun-shimmering blue, High where your silvery song-notes are sounding.

Smile on your labor now lightened, You who in winter perfected Seeds to be sown! All that your courage has brightened, All that your pity protected, Now it is grown; Over your shoulders upswinging, Folds round your frame, Bringing in roses your name, Joyous the sprite of your poetry bringing.

Onward our life is now marching, Banner-like high thoughts are flying, Lifted to view. One 'mid the foremost o'erarching Leads where the pathway is lying,— It came from you! Runes of our past with their warning Carved on its shaft, Show us the spring you have quaffed, Leading our land to the light of the morning.

FOR A CHARITY FAIR (IN A COPY OF MINOR PIECES)

Some poor man in need To bless and to feed, I bring at its worth, This day of my birth, A book,—from my youth I must own. But Who in His power Gave bud and gave flower, To bread can transform In want's winter-storm Each leaf that my Springtime has grown.

FORWARD (See Note 37)

"Forward! forward!" Rang our fathers' battle-cry. "Forward! forward!" Norsemen, be our watchword high! All that fires the spirit and makes the heart's faith bright, For that we forward go with might And faithful fight.

"Forward! forward!" Whoso loves a home that's free. "Forward! forward!" Freedom's course must ever be. Though it shall be tested by doubt and by defeat, Who will the losses' count repeat When vict'ries greet?

"Forward! forward!" Whoso trusts in Norway's day. "Forward! forward!" Whoso goes our fathers' way. Hid in Northern mountains are spirit-treasures true They shall, when dawns the morning's blue, Come forth anew.

THE MEETING (AT THE STUDENT MEETING OF 1869) (See Note 38)

Thoughts toward one another coursing To their pole must run, Hearts that meet, all bonds are forcing, Like the springtime sun. Though to-day too heavy sorrow Dull the mind of youth, Higher on the meeting's morrow Roll the tides of truth.

Though each man with courage fired Hundreds forward bore, Though a thousand died inspired, There is need of more. May a Northern Spring come blowing Over wood and field, Wake the hundred thousands, knowing Meeting-hour revealed!

Hail! A Northern day is written In the brightening sky; Darksome dread, that erst had smitten, Flees, now dawn is nigh. After Gjallar-horn blasts hollow, Tears and shame and blood, As so often, now shall follow Full the spirit's flood.

In our people's life deep-seated This is felt each day: Who grows stronger when defeated, Victor stands for aye. Our Spring-meeting's fullness swells now, Bearing prophecy Of the Spring whose hope upwells now: Hail, the Northern three!

NORSE NATURE (IN RINGERIKE DURING THE STUDENT MEETING OF 1869) (See Note 39)

We wander and sing with glee Of glorious Norway, fair to see. Let sweetly the tones go twining In colors so softly shining On mountain, forest, fjord, and shore, 'Neath heaven's azure arching o'er.

The warmth of the nation's heart, The depth, the strength, its songs impart, Here opens its eyes to greet you, Rejoicing just now to meet you, And giving, grateful for the chance, In love a self-revealing glance.

Here wakened our history first, Here Halfdan dreamed of greatness erst, In vision of hope beholding The kingdom's future unfolding, And Nore stood and summons gave, While forth to conquest called the wave.

Here singing we must unroll Of our dear land the pictured scroll! Let calm turn to storm of wildness, Bring might into bonds of mildness: Then Norsemen mustering, each shall see This is our land's whole history.

To them first our way we wing, The hundred harbors in the spring, Where follow fond love and yearning, When sea-ward the ships are turning. For Norway's weal pure prayers exhale From sixty thousand men that sail.

See sloping the skerried coasts, With gulls and whales and fishing-posts, And vessels in shelter riding, While boats o'er the sea are gliding, And nets in fjord and seines in sound, And white with spawn the ocean's ground.

See Lofoten's tumult grand, Where tow'ring cliffs in ocean stand, Whose summits the fogs are cleaving, Beneath them the surges heaving, And all is darkness, mystery, dread, But 'mid the tumult sails are spread.

Here ships of the Arctic sea; Through snow and gloom their course must be; Commands from the masthead falling The boats toward the ice are calling; And shot on shot and seal on seal, And souls and bodies strong as steel.

On mountains we now shall guest, When eventide to all brings rest, In dairy on highland meadow, On hay-field 'neath slanting shadow, While to the alphorn's tender tone Great Nature's voice responds alone.

But quickly we must away, If a11 the land we would survey,— The mines of our metal treasures, The hills of our hunters' pleasures, The foam-white river's rush and noise, The timber-driver's foot-sure poise.

Returning, we linger here, These valleys broad to us are dear, Whose men in their faithful living To Norway are honor giving; Their fathers, strong in brain and brawn, Lent luster to our morning-dawn.

We wander and sing with glee Of glorious Norway fair to see. Our present to labor binds us, Each how of the past reminds us, Our future shall be sure and bright, As God we trust and do the right.

I PASSED BY THE HOUSE (See Note 40)

I passed by the house one summer day, Morning sunshine upon it lay; Toward the windows that blood-red burned Flaming my soul was turned, was turned. There spring had found me And captive bound me To lissome hands and soft lips enthralling, To smiles now stained by the teardrops falling.

Till the view from my vision dies, To it backward I send my eyes; All that was becomes new and near, The forgotten grows warm and dear; Mem'ries wander, While this I ponder, And from the springtime all love's sweet dreaming Forward and back in my soul is streaming.

Joyous that time and joyous now, Sorrow that time and .sorrow now. Sun on meadows bedewed appears, Soul in mem'ries of smiles and tears. When they waking Their bounds are breaking, When streams their ebbing with sinking power, The soul bears poetry's bud and flower.

THOSE WITH ME (See Note 41)

As on I drive, in my heart joy dwells Of Sabbath silence with sound of bells. The sun lifts all that is living, growing, God's love itself in its symbol showing. To church pass people from near and far, Soon psalms ascend from the door ajar. —Good cheer! Your greeting hailed more than me, But that in hastening you failed to see.

Here's goodly company with me riding, Though oft they cunningly keep in hiding; But when you saw me so Sunday-glad, It was because of the mates I had. And when you heard me so softly singing, The tones attuned to their hearts were ringing.

One soul is here of such priceless worth, For me she offered her all on earth; Yes, she who smiled in my boat storm-driven, And blanched not, braving the waves wind-riven, In whose white arms that in love caressed me Full warmth of life and of faith possessed me.

The snail in this I am like when faring,— My home I ever am with me bearing; And who believes it is burdensome, He ought to learn how it's good to come And creep in under the roof thereafter, Where she gives light amid children's laughter.

No poet paints nor can thinker tell So vast a vault or so deep a well, As where the glory of God's own love On cradle-mirror falls from above. Your soul is brighter, your heart more tender, When by the cradle your thanks you render.

Who knows not love in the small and near, The many in memory hold not dear. Who cannot build him a house his own, What towers he builds will be soon o'erthrown. From Moscow victor to Carthagena, He vanquished dies on his Saint Helena.

When such a stronghold you've reared with labor, It often safely protects your neighbor; Though work of woman's and children's hands, Your soul finds strength where that fortress stands, You go hence braver to battle-dangers, Can courage give unto countless strangers.

One home bore often a whole land's fate, And sent the hero who saved the state; Thousands of homes, when the war was o'er, The land delivered in safety bore. So bear it onward in peace and beauty The hearts of homes beating true to duty.

Though foreign perfumes be fine and rare, Still pure alone is the home's sweet air. Naught meets you there but the childlike, truthful, And sin is kissed from your forehead ruthful. To heaven's home leads its door ajar, For thence it came and it lies not far.

Good cheer, to church on your way not staying! For those we love we shall both be praying; In prayer together the way we wander That leads from this to the home up yonder. You enter in; I must journey far, While follow psalms from the door ajar. Good cheer! Your greeting hailed more than me, But that in hastening you failed to see.

TO MY FATHER (UPON HIS RETIREMENT) (See Note 42)

In all the land our race was once excelling. In richer regions it e'en now possesses Broad seats and fruitful; but by fate's hard stresses Our branch was bent and bowed to blows compelling. Now toward the light again it lifts aloft Its top, and fresh buds crown it, fair and soft. The flowing fountain of your faith has laved it, To life's late evening thus your strength has saved it.

As rests the race in time of chill and rigor, And from the deeps that lie within its being Draws to it what alone can nourish, freeing Its powers to full prophecy of vigor,— So I divined the unseen stir in you Of nature's might that you could not subdue; It was so strong, from sire to son surviving, In mystery mute descends this power's striving.

Upon this poured its radiant warmth pervading My mother's soul; of wedded joy the glory Crowns not alone your aged heads and hoary; But it shall death outlive in light unfading. And if my people ever truly prize The pictured home that in my writings lies, Honor of love and faith serene, unbroken,— Of father, mother, both, shall praise be spoken.

If men remember the Norwegian peasant, As from the field of toil or saga fateful I conjured him; to you they shall be grateful, Father, in whom love let me find him present. And if the woman whom I made them view In sun-like splendid faith and spirit true, By women is approved, it is the other Who has their homage, my sweet-natured mother.

And now you'll rest the evening long and cheery From the day's work in fair or troubled weather, And of the by-gone time you'll talk together, Of many a mile you trod with footsteps weary,— Now will as sunlight on the winter's snow, A warmth of thanks in through the window glow, Harsh memories mellow with its golden shining, Your life in faith complete find its refining.

But none gives thanks as now that son in gladness, For whom you lived in anxious fear unceasing, Since forth he flew with strength of wing increasing, For whom to God you prayed in joy and sadness. Oh, know, when hot my blood burned over-much, I felt your soothing hands my forehead touch, And oft, my heart in mute repentance bleeding, In thoughts of you I heard God's gentle pleading.

And so I pray that I may have the power (Since we again for life shall be united, And hope 'mid mirthful mem'ries be relighted), To brighten now their every evening-hour! When children's children in their arms shall be, Oh, let them morning in their evening see! So shall they gladly lay, when death gives warning, Their gray heads down to greet the dawning morning.

TO ERIKA LIE (See Note 43)

When Norse nature's dower Tones will paint with power, There is more than mountain-heights that tower,— Plains spread wide-extending, Whereon at their wending Summer nights soft dews are sending.

Forests great are growing, And in long waves going Glommen's valley fill to overflowing,— There are green slopes vernal, Glad with joy fraternal, Open to the light supernal.

For revealing wholly All things fine and holy— As in sunshine birds are soaring slowly, Or, their spells transmitting, Northern Lights are flitting,— None but maiden-hands are fitting.

Your hands came, and playing, O'er their secrets straying Picture after picture are portraying, As the poet dreamed them, In soul-travail teemed them, Till your artist hands redeemed them.

Now their light far-flinging We see flashing, swinging, Sparks as from your father's humor springing; Now there meets us nigher, Mirroring the higher, Mother's eye of softer fire.

Child-heart tones are holding All our minds and molding, So its faith the wide world is enfolding, While your sweet sounds sally, Truth to tell and rally, Maiden blonde from Glommen's valley.

+ AT MICHAEL SARS'S GRAVE (See Note 44)

Ever he would roam Toward th' eternal home; From the least life deep in ocean To each gleam of stars in motion, Worth of all he weighed. Now the Lord lends aid.

Still he passed beyond, Softly dreaming; fond Nature met him as her lover. God with strength his soul shall cover 'Mid the starry throng Through the spheres' pure song.

Even here on earth Harmony's sweet birth— When discovery new truth sunders, When the small reveals its wonders— Filled his soul with song For the ages long.

Where his watch he kept, Eyes a hundred swept. Where millenniums sand assembled, Where the tiniest life-pulse trembled, There he sought the clue, Silent, wise, and true.

In a water glass Searching he saw pass All the ocean's life; his thinking To unfathomed deeps was sinking; Where lay riddles locked, There he came and knocked.

Fair our fatherland, While such faith shall stand! With an eye so true and tender, With a sense so fine for splendor In the small and still,— Great ends we fulfil!

TO JOHAN SVERDRUP (See Note 45)

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 On all the mountain-tops are sighted, And when our folk-high-school's young day The Norse heart kindles with its ray, Renewing mem'ries, courage bringing, While they are hearing, trusting, singing;— Just when the deep in billows surges, Responsive to the tempest's might, And over it the Northern Light Of Youth's refulgent hope emerges;— Just when the spirit everywhere, While walls lie low as trumpets blare, Is breaking from the ancient forms, And will of youth the heights now storms.

A battle-age,—and we are in it! The greatest thing on earth: to be Where powers that are bursting free, Self-shaping seek their place and win it;— Our fusing passion all to give, To cast the statue that shall live, To press the mold of our own form On what shall be the future's norm, Into the age's soul thus breathed The spirit God to us bequeathed.

'T was this that now I wished to say To you, who late and early, aye Within time's workshop great are going, What is, what shall be, ever knowing;— To you, who all our people's might Have roused for freedom new to fight;— To whom our people gave this power, And sorrow, its eternal dower.