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

167
ON THE DEATH OF J. L. HEIBERG
Now all mouths his praises number!
But the bard had first to slumber.
Tearful thanks the folk now pay him;
First, though on the bier must lay him.
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Denmark’s youth, you could have truly
Honoured your dead bard more duly!
Praised on high his life’s achievement;
Spared the trappings of bereavement.
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He strove, made the times’ trolls yield all;
You, though, crushed him in the shield-wall.
He a torch to Denmark handed;
You his bosom with it branded.
Sword-skill he to you confided;
You against his heart applied it.
Smiles and tears his song created;
But the man you immolated.
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Many in our northern regions
Now enlist in Tyrfing’s legions;
Many a breast has here been branded
With the very torch they handed.
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Woe, if Danes forget the ringing
Of their own bards’ voices singing.
Woe, if that grand sound were muted
In the clamour southward bruited.
Woe, if the new generation
Found their song a strange creation.
Woe, if heirs to bardic passion
Grew up garbed in German fashion!
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Time can further strong alliance,
Sometimes hatred and defiance.