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

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he spoke of Freedom’s treasure, newly won,
the vast importance of the celebration.
His eyes shone moist and misted with emotion, —
the crowd’s sight, too, as shining as his glance; —
it was the shine that comes from long devotion
to punch-bowls, at some hectic, all-night dance.
“And then he spoke of linking generations
from past to present time; his words impress;
those who scorned folk-gods earned his comminations;
then came this ringing, clarion-call address:
‘The blood that streams in veins of Nordic creatures
is blood that in Jarl Haakon’s streamed before;
the blush that burns upon a Norseman’s features
once burned the cheek of thunder’s god, great Thor!’
“Then I recalled the wood, the blood there streaming,
the lad who at the board had stood and blushed; —
through all my limbs an icy current rushed,
I woke — a flash of lightning broke my dreaming.
I looked around. No scoffing, no demurring?
The contrary; they held their breath to hear;
just murmurs, like a cat’s contented purring
when someone strokes its back and rubs its ear.
“He tickled up the crowd that loved the tickling; —
on me alone truth’s heavy burden lay;
I knew why blood was likely to be trickling,
why cheeks might well be glowing in our day.
I ran, as though from demons I’d glimpsed pouring
from myriad hells to share festivities;
behind me, myriad-mouthed, a beast was roaring; —
my people, who endorsed the poet’s lies!
“Then to the lie the trumpet blared a pledge,
the bard descended, finished with his rally;
the seed, though, that he’d sown would sift and dredge
in printed form through Norway’s every valley.
There it would send down roots and sprout and grow;
what crop, then, in a hundred years or so?
For when the Prince of Lies speaks through the preacher,
what prospect for the rest with such a teacher?”
He leaped up from the rock; looked down, where under
deep shadow lay the village, dank and dark;
his face was like a sleeping threat of thunder;
his gaze not merely stern but hard and stark.
A second Moses, on his own behalf; —
filled with Old Testamental wrath and passion
he stood, God’s eagle, viewing in what fashion
his desert folk adored the golden calf.