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 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.

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

May Seventeenth (1883)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Kaare's Song (From Sigurd Slembe)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

To Molde

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Landfall

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.

The Melody (From Arne)

The youth in the woods spent the whole day long,
    The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
    Wonderful song.

Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair,
    A flute so fair, -
To try, if within were the melody rare,
    Melody rare.

Melody whispered and said: "I am here!"
    Said: "I am here!"
But while he was listening, it fled from his ear,
    Fled from his ear.

Oft when he slept, it to him crept,
    It to him crept;
And over his forehead in love it swept,
    In love it swept.

When he would seize it, his sleep took flight,
    His sleep took flight;
The melody hung in the pallid night,
    In the pallid night.

"Lord, O my God, take me therein,
    Take me therein!
The mel...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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, ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Ivar Ingemundson's Lay (From Sigurd Slembe)

(See Note 15)

Wherefore have I longings,
When to live them strength is lacking?
And wherefore see I,
If I see but sorrow?

Flight of my eye to the great and distant
Dooms it to gales of darkening doubt;
But fleeing backward to the present,
It's prisoned in pain and pity.

For I see a land with no leader,
I see a leader with no land.
The land how heavy-laden
The leader how high his longing!

Might the men but know it,
That he is here among them!
But they see a man in fetters,
And leave him to lie there.

Round the ship a storm is raging,
At the rudder stands a fool. Who can save it?
He, who below the deck is longing,
Half-dead and in fetters.

(Looking upward)

Hear how they call Thee
And co...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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!

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

The Child In Our Soul

Toward God in heaven spacious
With artless faith a boy looks free,
As toward his mother gracious,
And top of Christmas-tree.
But early in the storm of youth
There wounds him deep the serpent's tooth;
His childhood's faith is doubted
And flouted.

Soon stands in radiant splendor
With bridal wreath his boyhood's dream;
Her loving eyes and tender
The light of heaven's faith stream.
As by his mother's knee of yore
God's name he stammers yet once more,
The rue of tears now paying
And praying.

When now life's conflict stirring
Leads him along through doubtings wild,
Then upward points unerring
Close by his side his child.
With children he a child is still
And whatsoe'er his heart may chill,
Prayer for his son is warming,

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Our Language (1900)

(See Note 80)

Thou, who sailest Norse mountain-air,
And Denmark's songs by the cradle singest,
Who badest in Hald the war-flames flare,
And, heard in our children's joy, gently ringest, -
    Thou treasure of treasures,
    Our mother-tongue,
    In pains as in pleasures
    Our home and our tower,
    With God our power, -
    We hallow thee!

Whispering secrets that Holberg stored,
Thou borest him home to a brighter morning,
Didst serve him with armor and whet his sword
For satire's assaults and for laughter's warning.
    Thou spirit all knowing,
    Our mother-tongue,
    The ages foregoing,
    The future now growing,
    The present glowing, -
    We hallow thee!

Kierkegaard thou to the deeps didst bring,
Wh...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson