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

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But then there’s some life in that little bay!
In on the patch there’s a dance under way
With fluting and clarinetting.
Danish melodies, Russian chants,
English horn-pipes, can-cans from France
Weave a right motley setting.
The trio I mentioned were sometimes there;
But that meant a threat to the whole affair.
I cannot explain their rancour, —
Suffice it to say, and it passed for true,
They would bring out their mightiest oaths on cue
When a Danish craft lay at anchor.
One day — it was summer — in ran a brig
With trimmest of cordage and ship-shape rig
And the Danes’ national flag was flying.
Likelier lads you would seldom see
Than they were, they reefed so efficiently
As the brig cleared the point outlying.
Come that evening, it’s dance and play,
Come that night it turned bloody fray, —
For the trio were there, those bold hearties.
Oaths from the Danes, the Norwegians bawled,
But neither side triumphed and no-one crawled.
Honours all square for both parties.
The Danes made mock of them, teased them raw;
But next time they met, the three lads swore
Bloody vengeance could be expected.
The brig weighed anchor — the day was bright —
The gaff-mounted flag was a handsome sight.
The set-to was long recollected.
And harsh were the words they endured, those three,
For having behaved so outrageously;
But the talking proved vain and hollow.
A summer passed by, then the autumn’s gone;
The winter weather dragged on and on
Till it’s time for the spring to follow.
Then all of a sudden the wildest of blows
One night-time in April with fog and thick snows,
Big surf on the shoals and beaches.
That night there was no-one could rest ashore; —
Then a shot was heard, — and again one more; —
It came from the outer reaches.
Folk flocked the look-out point, old and young;
But in rolled dense sea-mist and there it hung,