To Hans Christian Andersen (At A Summer-Fete For Him In Christiania, 1871)

(See Note 53)

We welcome you this wondrous summer-day,
When childhood's dreams on earth are streaming,
To bloom and sing, to brighten and to pale;
    A fairy-tale,
A fairy-tale, our Northland all is seeming,
And holds you in its arms a festal space
With grateful glee and whisperings face to face.
    Th' angelic noise,
    Sweet strains of children's joys,
Bears you a moment to that home
Whence all our dreams, whence all our dreams have come.

We welcome you! Our nation all is young,
Still in that age of dreams enthralling,
When greatest things in fairy-tales are nursed,
    And he is first,
And he is first, who hears his Lord's high calling.
Of childhood's longings you the meaning know,
And to the North a goal of greatness show.
    Your fantasy
    Has just that path made free,
Where, past the small things that you hate,
We yet shall find, we yet shall find the 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

The Hare And The Fox (From Synnove Solbakken)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Question And Answer

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

The Mother's Song (From Arne)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Anton Martin Schweigaard (In The Church After The Funeral Oration)

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.

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

Holger Drachmann

(See Note 70)

Spring's herald, hail! You've rent the forest's quiet?
Your hair is wet, and you are leaf-strewn, dusty ...
With your powers lusty
Have you raised a riot?
What noise about you of the flood set free,
That follows at your heels, - turn back and see:
It spurts upon you! - Was it that you fought for?
You were in there where stumps and trunks are rotting
Where long the winter-graybeards have been plotting
To prison safe that which a lock they wrought for.
But power gave you Pan, the ancient god!
They cried aloud and cursed your future lot?
Your gallant feat they held a robber's fraud?
- Each spring it happens; but is soon forgot.

You cast you down beside the salt sea's wave.
It too is free; dances with joy to find you.
You know the mu...

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

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

Good Cheer (1870)

(See Note 49)

So let these songs their story tell
To all who in the Northland dwell,
Since many friends request it.
(That Finland's folk with them belong
In the wide realm of Northern song,
I grateful must attest it.)

I send these songs - and now I find
Most of them have riot what my mind
Has deepest borne and favored:
Some are too hasty, some too brief,
Some, long in stock, have come to grief,
Some with raw youth are flavored.

I lived far more than e'er I sang;
Thought, ire, and mirth unceasing rang
Around me, where I guested;
To be where loud life's battles call
For me was well-nigh more than all
My pen on page arrested.

What's true and strong has growing-room,
And will perhaps eternal bloom,
Without black ink...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson