At Hansteen's Bier (1873)

(See Note 60)

God, we thank Thee for the dower
Thou gavest Norway in his power,
Whom in the grave we now shall lay!
Starlit paths of thoughts that awe us
His spirit found; his deeds now draw us
To deeds, as mighty magnets play.
    He was the first to stand
    A light in our free land;
Of our present the first fair crown,
    The first renown,
At Norway's feet he laid it down.

We his shining honors sharing,
And humble now his body bearing,
Shall sing with all the world our praise.
God, who ever guides our nation,
Hath called us to a high vocation
And shown where He our goal doth raise.
    People of Norway, glad
    Go on, as God us bade!
God has roused you; He knows whereto,
    Though we are few.
With Him our future we shall view.

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson was a Norwegian writer and one of the four great Norwegian writers, along with Henrik Ibsen, Jonas Lie, and Alexander Kielland. Bjørnson is recognized for his pivotal role in Norwegian literature and his works contributing significantly to Norwegian national identity. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1903 and also wrote the lyrics to the Norwegian national anthem, 'Ja, vi elsker dette landet'. Bjørnson was an influential figure in Norway's cultural and political life during his lifetime.

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

When Norway Would Not Help (Easter Eve, 1864)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Nils Finn (From Halte Hulda)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Ivar Ingemundson's Lay (From Sigurd Slembe)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

The Call (From A Happy Boy)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Song For Norway (1859) National Hymn

(See Note 1)

Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
Love it, love it, of you thinking,
Father; mother dear,
And that night of saga sinking
Dreamful to us here.

This the land that Harald guarded
With his hero-throng,
This the land that Haakon warded,
Hailed by Eyvind's song.
Olaf here the cross erected,
While his blood he shed;
Sverre's word this land protected
'Gainst the Roman dread.

Peasants whetted axes carried,
Broke th' invader's blow;
Tordenskjold flashed forth and harried,
Lighted home the foe.
Women oft to arms were leaping,
Manlike in their deed;
Others' lot was naught but weeping,
Tears that brought their meed.

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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 ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Ole Gabriel Ueland

(See Note 46)

Of long toil 't is a matter
Through many a silent age,
Before such power can shatter
Time-hallowed custom's cage.
The soul-fruit of the peasant,
Though seldom seed was sown,
It is our honor present, -
Our future sure foreknown.

The fjords that earnest waited
'Mid mountain-snows around
His childhood's thoughts created
And depth of life profound.
The highlands' sun that played there
On fjord and mountain snow
So wide a vision made there
As one could wish to know.

When he to Ting repairing
Would plead the peasant's right,
Each word a beam was bearing.
To make our young day bright.
It came like ancient story
Or long-lost song's refrain;
What crowned our past with glory
It made our prese...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

At A Banquet Given To The Deputation Of The Swedish Riksdag To The Coronation, In Trondhjem, July 17, 1873

(See Note 62)

You chosen men we welcome here
    From brothers near.
We welcome you to Olaf's town
That Norway's greatest mem'ries crown,
Where ancient prowess looking down
    With searching gaze,
The question puts to sea and strand:
Are men now in the Northern land
    Like yesterday's?

'T is well, if on the battlefield
    Our "Yes" is sealed!
'T is well, if now our strength is steeled
To grasp our fathers' sword and shield
And in life's warfare lift and wield
    For God and home!
For us they fought; 't is now our call
To raise for them a temple-hall,
    Fair freedom's dome.

List to the Northern spirit o'er
    Our sea and shore!
Here once high thoughts in word were freed,
In homely song, in homely deed;

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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,

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

The Bier Of Precentor A. Reitan (1872)

(See Note 56)

With smiles his soft eyes ever gleamed,
When God and country thinking;
With endless joy, his soul, it seemed,
Faith, fatherland, was linking.
    His word, his song,
    Like springs flowed strong;
They fruitful made the valley long,
And quickened all there drinking.

Poor people and poor homes among
In wintry region saddest,
In Sunday's choir he always sung,
Of all the world the gladdest:
    "The axis stout
    It turns about,
Falls not the poorest home without,
For thus, O God, Thou badest."

With sickness came a heavy year
And put to proof his singing,
While helpless children standing near
His trust to test were bringing.
    But glad the more,
    As soft notes soar
When winds o'er hidden ha...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson