First part of 'Sidste sang' by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

Final song

I send these songs at friends’ request

to Northern women, men addressed

in countries three residing.

(That also Finland’s folk at times

partake in songs of northern climes

I note with thanks abiding).

I send them – and first now I see

most have not what my memory

has kept and felt most keenly;

some are too short, some merely prate,

some storage made evaporate,

some need to age serenely.

More life was lived than songs were sung;

thoughts, fury, joy I round me flung

in places I frequented;

to be precisely on the spot

was almost more to me than what

my pen in fact recorded.

What’s strong and true’s a place to dwell,

eternity perhaps as well,

if blackening can’t sadden,

and he who’s not by such unmanned

and midst life’s lurchings dares to stand,

folk best with songs can gladden.

I once heard of a Spanish feast:

into the ring they first released

a horse of country stature;

and then a tiger from its cage; –

it prowled awhile in silent rage,

then leapt straight at its capture.

And folk enthused, they laughed and clapped

at leaping tiger, horse that scrapped,

though they could see no gore there;

for back and forth the tiger strove,

was struck by many hefty blows

until it lay quite floored there.

Then all the men did goad and yell

and women too; they almost fell

into the ring from ardour.

They screamed, provoked the tiger so,

– for all of them would see blood flow –

to make it fight yet harder.

– And folk enthused, they laughed and clapped

at leaping tiger, horse that scrapped,

– though all the blood was hidden;

the horse had clearly all the luck,

the tiger failed for all its pluck

though leapt as it was bidden.

I don’t know who won finally;

because that country horse is me,

the fight too has no ending; –

the town you know where this takes place,

that laughter, clapping would embrace -

its name needs no appending! –

Completely without hate I fight;

that which I love makes me feel light,

but angry too and heated.

My blood, my soul, are both in sight

in every single line I write,

thus die-straight when completed.

But as I now stand here today,

no grudge or rancour on me prey

against a single mortal, –

so show a kind heart to a man

to whom the cause was his whole plan,

the North his much-loved portal! –

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