Poems and Songs by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (classic books for 11 year olds TXT) 📖

right.
--"Pull it up!" rumbled yonder.

Nils' tears wet the snow, while he kicked and he struck;
The more that he kicked there, the deeper he stuck.
--"That was good!" rumbled yonder.

The birch-trees, they danced, and the pine-trees said "Hoo!"
They more were than one,--were a hundred and two.
--"Know your way?" rumbled yonder.

A laugh shook the ridge till it made the snow fly;
But Nils clenched his fists and he swore 't was a lie.
--"Now beware!" rumbled yonder.

The snow-field yawned wide, and the heavens came low;
Nils thought 't was now time for him also to go.
--"Is he gone?" rumbled yonder.--

Two skis in the snow looked about everywhere,
But saw nothing much; for there was nothing there.
--"Where is Nils?" rumbled yonder.



THE MAIDENS' SONG

(FROM HALTE HULDA)

Good-morning, sun, 'mid the leaves so green --
Mind of youth in the dales' deep reaches,
Smile that brightens their somber speeches,
Heaven's gold on our earth-dust seen!

Good-morning, sun, o'er the royal tower!
Kindly thou beckonest forth each maiden;
Kindle each heart as a star light-laden,
Twinkling so clear, though a sad night lower!

Good-morning, sun, o'er the mountain-side!
Light the land that still sleep disguises
Till it awakens and fresh arises
For yonder day in thy warmth's full tide!



THE DOVE

(FROM HALTE HULDA)

I saw a dove fear-daunted,
By howling storm-blast driven;
Where waves their power vaunted,
From land it had been riven.
No cry nor moan it uttered,
I heard no plaint repeated;
In vain its pinions fluttered --
It had to sink, defeated.



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.



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!



BALLAD OF TAILOR NILS

(FROM ARNE)

If you were born before yesterday,
Surely you've heard about Tailor Nils, who flaunts him so gay.

If it's more than a week that you've been here,
Surely you've heard how Knut Storedragen got a lesson severe.

Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin':
"When Nils heaves you again, take with you some luncheon."

Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned,
Haunting ghosts of his name spread alarm all around.

"Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare!
On that spot will I spit and lay your head right there."--

"Oh, just come up so near, that I know you by the scent!
Think not that by your jaw to earth I shall be bent!"

When first they met, 't was scarce a bout at all,
Neither man was ready yet to try to get a fall.

The second time Hans Bugge slipped his hold.
"Are you tired now, Hans Bugge? The dance will soon be bold."

The third time Hans fell headlong, and forth the blood did spurt.
"Why spit you now so much, man?" -- "Oh my, that fall did hurt!"--

Saw you a tree casting shadows on new-fallen snow?
Saw you Nils on a maiden smiling glances bestow?

Have you seen Tailor Nils when the dance he commences?
Are you a maiden, then go!--It's too late, when you've lost your senses.



VENEVIL

(FROM ARNE)
(See Note 2)

Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"

And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"

She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue:
"My eyes for you!"
He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend:
"Good-by, my friend!"
And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant end:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"

She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care
For my golden hair?"
She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare
Her red lips' pair;
He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed as she did there.

She twined one all white as a lily-band:
"'T is my right hand."
She twined one blood-red, with her love in each strand:
"'T is my left hand."
He took them both and kept them both, but would not understand.

She twined of the flowers that bloomed around
"Every one I found!"
She gathered and twined, while tears would her eyes fill:
"Take them you will!"
In silence then he took them, but to flight he turned him still.

She twined one so large, of discordant hue:
"My bride's-wreath true!"
She twined it and twined, till her fingers were sore:
"Crown me, I implore!"
But when she turned, he was not there, she never saw him more.

She twined yet undaunted without a stay
At her bride's-array.
But now it was long past the Midsummer Day,
All the flowers away:
She twined it of the flowers, though they all were now away!
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"



OVER THE LOFTY MOUNTAINS

(FROM ARNE)
(See Note 3)

Wonder I must, what I once may see
Over the lofty mountains!
Eyes shall meet only snow, may be;
Standing here, each evergreen tree
Over the heights is yearning;--
Will it be long in learning?

Pinions strong bear the eagle away
Over the lofty mountains
Forth to the young and vigorous day;
There he exults in the swift, wild play,
Rests where his spirit orders,--
Sees all the wide world's borders.

Full-leaved the apple-tree wishes naught
Over the lofty mountains!
Spreading, when summer hither is brought,
Waiting till next time in its thought;
Many a bird it is swinging,
Knowing not what they are singing.

He who has longed for twenty years
Over the lofty mountains,
He who knows that he never nears,
Smaller feels with the lapsing years,
Heeds what the bird is singing
Cheerily to its swinging.

Garrulous bird, what will you here
Over the lofty mountains?
Surely your nest was there less drear,
Taller the trees, the outlook clear;--
Will you then only bring me
Longings, but naught to wing me?

Shall I then never, never go
Over the lofty mountains?
Shall to my thoughts this wall say,--No!
Stand with terror of ice and snow,
Barring the way unwended,
Coffin me when life is ended?

Out will I! Out!--Oh, so far, far, far,
Over the lofty mountains!
Here is this cramping, confining bar,
Baffling my thoughts, that so buoyant are;--
Lord! Let me try the scaling,
Suffer no final failing!

_Sometime_ I know I shall rise and soar
Over the lofty mountains.
Hast Thou already ajar Thy door?--
Good is Thy home! Yet, Lord, I implore,
Hold not the gates asunder,--
Leave me my longing wonder!



THE DAY OF SUNSHINE

(FROM ARNE)

It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I roved to the woods, on my back I lay,
In cradle of fancy rolled me;
But there were ants, and gnats that bite,
The horse-fly was keen, the wasp showed fight.

"Dear me, don't you want to be out in this fine
weather?" --said mother, who sat on the steps and sang.

It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
A meadow I found, on my back I lay,
And sang what my spirit told me;
Then snakes came crawling, a fathom long,
To bask in the sun,--I fled with my song.

"In such blessed weather we can go barefoot,"--said mother,
as she pulled off her stockings.

It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I loosened a boat, on my back I lay,
While blithely the current bowled me;
But hot grew the sun, and peeled my nose;
Enough was enough, and to land I chose.

"Now these are just the days to make hay in,"-- said mother,
as she stuck the rake in it.

It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I climbed up a tree, oh, what bliss to play,
As cooling the breeze consoled me;
But worms soon fell on my neck, by chance,
And jumping, I cried: "'T is the Devil's own dance!"

"Yes, if the cows aren't sleek and shiny to-day, they'll
never be so,"--said mother, gazing up the hillside.

It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I dashed to the waterfall's endless play,
There only could peace enfold me.
The shining sun saw me drown and die,--
If you made this ditty, 't was surely not I.

"Three more such sunshine-days, and everything will
be in,"--said mother, and went to make my bed.



INGERID SLETTEN

(FROM ARNE)

Ingerid Sletten of Sillejord
Neither gold nor silver did own,
But a little hood of gay wool alone,
Her mother had given of yore.

A little hood of gay wool alone,
With no braid nor lining, was here;
But parent love made it ever dear,
And brighter than gold it shone.

She kept the hood twenty years just so:
"Be