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.

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

At Hansteen's Bier (1873)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Secret Love

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Venevil (From Arne)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

The Poet

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Norway, Norway

(See Note 76)

    Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green,
Islands around like fledglings tender,
Fjord-tongues with slender,
Tapering tips in the silence seen.
    Rivers, valleys,
Mate among mountains, wood-ridge and slope
Wandering follow. Where the wastes lighten,
Lake and plain brighten
Hallow a temple of peace and hope.
    Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
    Gentle or hard,
    Thee we guard, thee we guard,
Thee, our future's fair land.

    Norway, Norway,
Glistening heights where skis swiftly go,
Harbors with fishermen, salts, and craftsmen,
Rivers and raftsmen,
Herdsmen and horns and the glacier-glow.
    Moors and meadows,
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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 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...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

To Molde

(See Note 64)

    Molde, Molde,
    True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
    Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
    Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
    Molde, Molde,
    True as a song,
    Murm'ring memories throng.

    Molde, Molde,
    Flower-o'ergrown,
Houses and gardens where good friends wander!
Hundreds of miles away, - but I'm yonder
    'Mid the roses full-blown.
Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty,
Fast is the ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Our Country (1859)

(See Note)

A land there is, lying near far-northern snow,
Where only the fissures life's springtime may know.
But surging, the sea tells of great deeds done,
And loved is the land as a mother by son.

What time we were little and sat on her knee,
She gave us her saga with pictures to see.
We read till our eyes opened wide and moist,
While nodding and smiling she mute rejoiced.

We went to the fjord and in wonder beheld
The ashen-gray bauta, that record of eld;
Still older she stood and her silence kept,
While stone-studded hows all around us slept.

Our hands she then took and away o'er the hill
She led to the church ever lowly and still,
Where humbly our forefathers knelt to pray,
And mildly she taught us: "Do ye as they!"

She ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson