Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson Poems

… O'er uplands fresh swift sped my sleigh…
A light snow fell; along the way
Stood firs and birches slender.
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The white rose and the red rose,
So sisters two were named, yes, named.
The white one was so quiet,
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Give us, God, to Thee now turning,
Fullness of joy, tears full and burning,
Of will the full refining fire!
Hear our prayer o'er his inurning:
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In all the land our race was once excelling.
In richer regions it e'en now possesses
Broad seats and fruitful; but by fate's hard stresses
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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!
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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!"
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The princess looked down from her bower high,
The youth blew his horn as he lingered thereby.
"Be quiet, O youth, will forever you blow?
It hinders my thoughts, that would far away go,
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When Kattegat now or the Belt you sail,
No more will you sight
The Danish proud frigate, no more will you hail
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Open water, open water!
All the weary winter's yearning
Bursts in restless passion burning.
Scarce is seen the blue of ocean,
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Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green,
Islands around like fledglings tender,
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