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He gloomily sat by the wall,
As gaily she danced with them all.

Her laughter's light spell

On every one fell;
His heartstrings were near unto rending,
But this there was none comprehending.

She fled from the house, when at eve
He came there to take his last leave.

To hide her she crept,

She wept and she wept;
Her life-hope was shattered past mending,
But this there was none comprehending.

Long years dragged but heavily o'er,
And then he came back there once more.

— Her lot was the best,

In peace and at rest; Her thought was of him at life's ending, But this there was none comprehending.


Broad the sails o'er the North Sea go;
High on deck in the morning glow
Erling Skjalgsson from Sole
Scans all the sea toward Denmark:
"Cometh never Olaf Trygvason?"

Six and fifty the ships are there, Sails are let down, toward Denmark stare Sun-reddened men;—then murmur: "Where is the great Long Serpent? Cometh never Olaf Trygvason?"

When the sun in the second dawn
Cloudward rising no mast had drawn,
Grew to a storm their clamor:
"Where is the great Long Serpent?
Cometh never Olaf Trygvason?"

Silent, silent that moment bound,
Stood they all; for from ocean's ground
Sighed round the fleet a muffled:
"Taken the great Long Serpent,
Fallen is Olaf Trygvason."

Ever since, through so many a year,
Norway's ships must beside them hear,
Clearest in nights of moonshine:
"Taken the great Long Serpent,
Fallen is Olaf Trygvason."


Evening sunshine never
Solace to my window bears,
Morning sunshine elsewhere fares; —

Here are shadows ever.

Sunshine freely falling, Wilt thou not my chamber find? Here some rays would reach a mind,

'Mid the dark appalling.

Morning sunshine's gladness, Oh, thou art my childhood bright; While thou playest pure and white,

I would weep in sadness.

Evening sunshine's whiling, Oh, thou art the wise man's rest;— Farther on! Then from the west

Greet my window smiling!

Morning sunshine's singing,
Oh, thou art the fantasy
That the sun-glad world lifts free,

Past my powers' winging.

Evening sunshine's quiet, Thou art more than wisdom's rest, Christian faith glows in thee blest:

Calm my soul's wild riot!



{IVlth an album containing portraits of all those who at the time of his birth were leaders in the intellectual and political •world.}

Here hast thou before thee that constellation

Whereunder was born thy light; These stars in the vault of high thoughts' mutation

Will fashion thy life with might. Their prophecy, little one, we cannot know, They light up the way that, unknown, thou shalt go And kindle the thoughts that within shall glow.

Thou first shalt them gather,

Then choose thine own,—

So canst thou the rather

Grope on alone.


(Harald Haardraade's saga, towards the end of Chapter 45, reads thus; When Einar Tambarskelve1 s wife Bergliot, who had remained behind in her lodgings in the town, learned of the death of her husband and of her son, she went straight to the royal residence, where the armed force of peasants was, and eagerly urged them to fight. But in that very moment the King (Harald) rowed out along the river. Then said Bergliot: "Now miss we here my kinsman, Haakon Ivarson; never should Einar's murderer row out along the river, if Haakon stood here on the river-bank.")

{In her lodgings)

To-day King Harald
Must hold his ting-peace;
For Einar has here
Five hundred peasants.

Our son Eindride
Safeguards his father,
Who goes in fearless
The King defying.

Thus maybe Harald,
Mindful that Einar
Has crowned in Norway
Two men with kingship,

Will grant that peace be,
On law well grounded;
This was his promise,
His people's longing.—

What rolling sand-waves
Swirl up the roadway!
What noise is nearing!
Look forth, my footboy!

—The wind's but blowing!
Here storms beat wildly;
The fjord is open,
The fells low-lying.

The town's unchanged
Since child I trod it;

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