And that was Olaf Trygvason,
Seemed to see before his eyes
Mottled and gray some timeless temple
Lifting white domes to the skies.
Sorely he longed to win it,
Stand and hallow his young faith within it.
TO HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
(AT A SUMMER-F?TE FOR HIM IN CHRISTIANIA, 1871)
(See Note 53)
We welcome you this wondrous summer-day,
When childhood's dreams on earth are streaming,
To bloom and sing, to brighten and to pale;
A fairy-tale,
A fairy-tale, our Northland all is seeming,
And holds you in its arms a festal space
With grateful glee and whisperings face to face.
Th' angelic noise,
Sweet strains of children's joys,
Bears you a moment to that home
Whence all our dreams, whence all our dreams have come.
We welcome you! Our nation all is young,
Still in that age of dreams enthralling,
When greatest things in fairy-tales are nursed,
And he is first,
And he is first, who hears his Lord's high calling.
Of childhood's longings you the meaning know,
And to the North a goal of greatness show.
Your fantasy
Has just that path made free,
Where, past the small things that you hate,
We yet shall find, we yet shall find the great.
TO STANG
(1871)
(See Note 54)
May Seventeenth in Eidsvold's church united,
To hallow after fifty years the day
When they who there our charter free indited,
Together for our land were met to pray,--
We both were there with thanks to those great men,
With thanks to God, who to our people then
In days of danger courage gave unbounded.
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