Poems and Songs Part 2

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 SUNs.h.i.+NE (FROM ARNE)

It was such a lovely suns.h.i.+ne-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 suns.h.i.+ne-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 suns.h.i.+ne-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.