THE COLLECTED POEMS OF HENRIK IBSEN Translated by John ...

101
When epic shield-to-shield forays
Alone could satisfy the folk —
But what bloomed bright and modest there
Remained a closed book none could share,
And none there were that could assess
Its beauty and its copiousness.
Then Norsemen sallied forth in mail
In vessels from the strand,
Great enterprise, great deeds the grail
They sought through blood and burning brand —
But then the eagle toppled, maimed,
Its courage broken, power tamed,
The hero slept `neath barrow-moss
In Hordaland and Nidaros.
But for a folk with breast supplied
With Memory’s golden hoard,
No warrior’s barrow is denied
Its soul-life as reward.
But not the rune-script of the blade,
No, thought’s more gentle strengths persuade
That its skilled art can best invoke
The zest that’s in the younger folk.
And ancient Nidaros that housed
The Bygone’s might and strife,
Will understand the same stock roused
In Art, too, sap and life,
Will understand Art seeks the lee
Of shade beneath its homestead tree
And that it blossoms, nourished by
Its country folk’s kind husbandry.
Hence this our visit of goodwill,
For here’s the home possessed
Of every bloom that art and skill
Grew in the people’s breast;
And memories of days of yore
Are treasure shared, our common store — —
We share the soul’s baptismal grace,
One hoped-for future for the race!
Nidaros, the medieval city which later became Trondhjem; Hordaland, the surrounding
district
.