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

59
Yes we, a watch eternal,
Shall loving hands enrol
To guard the North’s true kernel,
Its trinity of soul:
Too long it went un-nourished,
Long lacked the succour due,
Yet put out shoots that flourished
In conflict’s derring-do.
Though Gefjon’s plough has sited
A furrow deep and broad,
Yet all is re-united
By brotherly accord; —
Hence, Denmark, we salute thee
With brotherly acclaim,—
Hail, Danes, who resolutely
Fight in our common name.
Another poem inspired by German’s threat to Denmark and the North at large. Vigrid, the
battlefield on which the final battle between gods and giants was fought. Gefjon, a giantess
who turned her four sons into oxen to plough a channel that divides the Danish island of
Sjælland from the Swedish mainland.
ON LADERGAARDSJØEN
the 10 th June [1851]
A breeze is stirring, the sound subdued
Among the forest spruces,
Profound and sad is the inward mood
The woodland scene induces;
It whispers of its yearning needs,
Each fondest recollection,
And there the voice that feeling breeds
Is echoed to perfection.
Once on a time a proud queen held sway
Within these woods that whisper,
There ladies strolled in their silk array
Beside the fjord’s bright glister,
The minstrel sang of love’s sweet flames
Unto the harp’s gold stringing,
While courtly jest and knightly games
Set flowered meads a-ringing.
But times changed, and the hallowed glade
Slept in its old seclusion,
It saw its sprightly vigour fade
With whirlwind strife’s intrusion;
But Nature’s spirit can withstand,
It dreams away the hours