Arne; Early Tales and Sketches: Patriots EditionBjørnson, Bjørnstjerne
General
Arne; Early Tales and Sketches: Patriots Edition
Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne
Norway -- Fiction; Norwegian fiction -- Translations into English
"Oh, how I wonder what I should see
Over the lofty mountains!
Snow here shuts out the view from me,
Round about stands the green pine-tree,
Longing to hasten over--
Dare it become a rover?
"Soars the eagle with strong wing play,
Over the lofty mountains;
Rows through the young and vigorous day
Sating his courage in quest of prey;
When he will swooping downward,
Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward.
"Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go
Over the lofty mountains?
Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow,
Thou wilt till next time wait, I know;
All of these birds art swinging,
Knowing not what they're singing.
"He who for twenty years longed to flee
Over the lofty mountains,
Nor beyond them can hope to see,
Smaller each year feels himself to be;
Hears what the birds are singing,
Thou art with confidence swinging.
"Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here
Over the lofty mountains?
Fairer the lands beyond must appear,
Higher the trees and the skies far more clear.
Wouldst thou but longing be bringing,
Bird, but no wings with thy singing?
"Shall I the journey never take
Over the lofty mountains?
Must my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break?
Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make,
Shutting at last in around me,
Till for my tomb it surround me?
"Forth will I! forth! Oh, far, far away,
Over the lofty mountains!
I will be crushed and consumed if I stay;
Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way,
Let it its flight now be taking,
Not on this rock-wall be breaking!
"One day I know I shall wander afar
Over the lofty mountains!
Lord, my God, is thy door ajar?
Good is thy home where the blessed are;
Keep it though closed a while longer,
Till my deep longing grow stronger."[25]
Arne stood still until the last verse, the last word, had died away.
Again he heard the birds sporting and twittering, but he knew not
whether he himself dared stir. Find out who had been singing, though, he
must; he raised his foot and trod so carefully that he could not hear
the grass rustle. A little butterfly alighted on a flower, directly at
his feet, had to start up again, flew only a little piece farther, had
to start up again, and so on all over the hill as he crept cautiously
up. Soon he came to a leafy bush, and cared to go no farther, for now he
could see. A bird flew up from the bush, gave a startled cry and darted
over the sloping hill-side, and then she who was sitting within view
looked up. Arne stooped far down, holding his breath, his heart
throbbing so wildly that he heard its every beat, listening, not daring
to move a leaf, for it was, indeed, she,--it was Eli whom he saw!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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