johnirons

Friday, 3 April 2026

Anon: 'Konung Göstaf I och Dahlkarlarne'

King Gustav I and the Men of Dalarna

To Dalarna King Gustav rides

To parley with his Swedes,

But Christian lies at Södermalm,

On stolen pork he feeds,

Christian sits safe in Stockholm,

He guzzles both wine and mead.

Listen good men of Dalarna

To all I have to say:

:|: Will you with me to Stockholm go

For there the Jutes to slay? :|:

The men of Dalarna answered him

They answered every one:

:|: Good Friday’s battle we still recall,

Much slaughtering then was done. :|:

To this King Gustav did reply:

He answered with this prayer:

:|: May God our Father in Heaven ensure

That we now better fare. :|:

The men of Dalarna answered him

Who bore the Swedish crown:

:|: Will you our battle-leader be

And take back Stockholm town? :|:

Snow grouse and squirrel in the tree

Our arrows seek and find;

:|: That bloodhound Christian surely then

To such a fate’s assigned. :|:

I’ll gladly your battle-leader be,

King Gustav told them true,

:|: If you will swear allegiance

And follow my banner blue. :|:

Then all the men of Dalarna

They answered one and all:

:|: We’ll gladly risk both life and limb

To make that tyrant fall. :|:

The man of Dalarna armed themselves,

Not one whole day but two,

:|: To fight alongside King Gustav

And see the battle through. :|:

Gladly King Gustav then set out,

O’er Tuna bridge he rode;

:|: In numbers that the Danes amazed,

The men from Dalarna strode. :|:

Across the Tuna heath they spread,

this army of valiant men;

:|: Greater in number than the king

At one look could take in. :|:

He and his men at speed advanced,

They Stockholm would set free;

:|: Their shower of arrows thicker fell

Than hail does on the sea. :|:

He and his men they forged ahead

And made for Stockholm town;

:|: Their shower of arrows thicker fell

Than rain from clouds pours down. :|:

The men from Dalarna then did shoot,

Their bows they drew and twanged;

:|: Thicker the swarm of arrows was

Than the seashore’s grains of sand. :|:

The men from Dalarna had their sport,

Their arrows did skip and nip;

:|: Two Jutlanders the third one bore

Up on their pikestaff’s tip. :|:

The miller’s wife she then came out

And loudly she did chide:

:|: The sacks of grain have all been ground,

Who’s to carry them inside? :|:

They are not sacks of grain that’s ground,

In spite of what you say;

The highest Jutlanders they are

That of late in Malm did lie,

The poorest Jutlanders they are

That from arrows came to die.

My head is simply splitting,

My limbs are heavy as lead;

:|: I’ve drunk marsh rosemary’s foul brew

That in Dalecarlia’s bred. :|:

My side is also aching,

All movement leaves me bent;

:|: I’ve tasted the herring sour and rank

That from Dalecarlia’s sent. :|:

From out their houses people came

Onto Stockholm’s streets they stepped;

:|: It caused delight to watch the Jutes

That from their horses leapt. :|:

A knight there was called Eric,

He moaned as if in pain :

:|: May Lord God help us Jutes, our land

We ne’er will see again! :|:

King Gustaf rode on his noble steed

Around the battlefield;

:|: I thank you, my men of Dalarna,

For faith that did not yield. :|:

At my side you have battled

As faithful Swedes and true;

If God me further life shall grant,

I’ll make this up to you.

If God me further life shall grant,

I’ll make this up to you.

To see the original, go to here

This is the story of the Stockholm Bloodbath and its aftermath. For more information, go to here.

Sven-Bertil Taube recorded this on an early LP, Skillingtryck

Thursday, 2 April 2026

Kai Hoffmann: 'Den Danske Sang' (1924)

Den Danske Sang

Den danske sang er en ung, blond pige,

hun går og nynner i Danmarks hus,

hun er et barn af det havblå rige,

hvor bøge lytter til bølgers brus.

Den danske sang, når den dybest klinger,

har klang af klokke, af sværd og skjold;

imod os bruser på brede vinger

en sagatone fra hedenold.

Al Sjællands ynde og Jyllands vælde,

de tvende klange af blidt og hårdt,

skal sangen rumme for ret at melde

om, hvad der inderst er os og vort.

Og tider skifter, og sæder mildnes,

men kunst og kamp kræver stadig stål:

det alterbål, hvor vor sjæl skal ildnes,

det ﬂammer hedest i Bjarkemål.

Så syng da, Danmark, lad hjærtet tale!

thi hjærtesproget er vers og sang,

og lære kan vi af nattergale,

af lærken over den grønne vang.

Og blæsten suser sin vilde vise,

og stranden drøner sit højtidskvad;

fra hedens lyng som fra stadens ﬂise

skal sangen løfte sig ung og glad.

The Danes’ true song

The Danes’ true song is a young blond maiden

who hums contented in Denmark’s land,

a child is she of the sea-blue kingdom

where beech trees listen as waves meet strand.

The Danes’ true song, when it’s deepest ringing,

with sounds of bells, sword and shield will soar;

the strains of sagas towards us winging

that tell of Denmark in days of yore.

All Zealand’s charm, Jutland’s strong dominion,

the mild and hard in the same refrain,

must both be sung should our real opinion

of us and ours be made clear and plain.

And customs mellow with time’s rephrasing,

but art and battle for steel still call:

the altar ﬁre where our soul’s set blazing

burns at its brightest in Bjarkemål.

So Denmark, sing, let the heart speak freely!

for heart’s true language is verse and song,

from nightingales we can learn this clearly,

from larks o’er meadows with call so strong.

And wind’s wild ballad breaks loose its tether,

the mighty lay of the waves is sung;

from city pavement and moorland heather

the song shall rise up, both glad and young.

Kai Hoffmann (text 1924), Carl Nielsen (music 1926)

I doubt if many Danes have any idea of what Bjarkemål is. It is a modern Danish/Norwegian spelling of Bjarkamál, an Old Norse poem from around the year 1000. The main reason it is referred to is perhaps that King Olav had the poem recited to rouse his outnumbered army the morning before an important battle. In this song there is, then, a call to mental battle reminiscent of the call made in Denmark after their great territorial losses of 1864 to the Prussians, and made topical by the recovery of Danish territory in Southern Jutland in 1922. The famous quotation ‘For every loss a replacement is to be found, what is outwardly lost must be inwardly won’ made in that context comes from the Danish writer J.P. Holst. The British equivalent is when people sing ‘I shall not cease from mental strife’ at the last night of the Proms.

For further information about Bjarkamál (= the beserker’s call), go to here.

N.F.S. Grundtvig: 'Moses og Pharao'

Moses og Pharao

Kong Pharao var en ugudelig Krop,

Han sagde: det varer for længe

Med Svøben at slide Ebræerne op,

Smid ud deres nyfødte Drenge!

Ja, smid dem i Nilen, trods Kiællinge-Snak!

Saa faaer vi dog endelig has paa det Rak.

Det skulde han sige saa sagte,

Man veed ikke hvad man kan magte.

Der fødtes nu Amram Leviter en Søn,

For faur til at fare saa ilde,

Hans Moder ham fostred tolv Uger i Løn,

Men turde ei meer hvad hun vilde,

I Arken af Rør og i Vuggen af Siv

Han maatte paa Floden nu friste sit Liv.

Den Herre, som boer i det Høie,

Dog ogsaa paa Dybet har Øie.

Kong Pharaos Datter var bedre end han,

Hun havde dog Hjerte i Livet,

Hun kom som en Dronning alt efter sin Stand,

Og saae hvad Sig rørde i Sivet,

Hun sukked, hun saae i den kiølige Seng,

Med blødende Hjerte, den grædende Dreng.

Selv midt i Ægypten man finder

Til Lykke dog Hjerte hos Kvinder!

En Syster ad Drengen paa Timen sprang til,

Hun stod der paa Luur for det Samme:

"Befaler Prindsessen, strax bringe jeg vil

Den lille Ebræer en Amme,"

Og knap hendes Høihed fik Jaet udsagt,

Før Pigen var borte og Moderen bragt.

Naar Mænd er som Dyrene vilde,

Til Lykke er Kvinderne snilde!

Saa slumped den Moses til Høibaarnes Kaar,

Der skulde som Konge befale,

Saa voxte han op i Kong Pharaos Gaard,

Som skulde Tyrannen betale;

Ebræernes Høvding blev ikke omsonst

Oplært i Ægypternes Vidskab og Konst.

Vil Nogen Guds Forsætter hemme,

Han nødes til selv dem at fremme.

Moses and Pharaoh

King Pharaoh was heartless, God’s laws he did flout

He said: time is wasted completely

Spent lashing the Hebrews to wear them all out –

Get rid of young male sons discreetly!

The Nile’s the solution, don’t heed women’s cries!

That should take good care of that riff-raff’s demise.

He ought to have spoken less brashly,

Such statements are often made rashly.

To Amram the Levite was now born a son,

Too fair for some ill to befall him,

For twelve weeks his mother all others did shun,

But then dared not keep him or call him.

In a basket of bulrushes he had to lie

And out on the river risk having to die.

The Lord up above in high station

Keeps watch though o’er all His creation.

Pharaoh’s daughter, however, was better than him.

Her heart was both loving and caring,

She came like a queen does, both noble and prim,

And saw what the reeds were ensnaring,

She sighed when she saw in the cool wicker bed,

Her heart deeply aching, the crying child’s head

In Egypt, though in their own fashion,

Were women’s hearts full of compassion!

The child had a sister, the job her assigned

Was always to hide and to heed him:

‘Princess, should you wish it, I know where to find

A wet nurse to tend and to feed him.’

Her highness had scarcely her yes more than thought

Than off went the girl and her mother was brought.

When men are like beasts, wild and savage,

What luck women kindness can manage!

Thus Moses by chance regal status attained,

For kinglike commands had permission,

At King Pharaoh’s court he was brought up and trained,

At the tyrant’s expense, in addition.

The head of the Hebrews was taught from the start

Egyptian advances in science and in art.

The one who God’s laws is disdaining

The converse may end up attaining.

Tuesday, 31 March 2026

N.F.S. Grundtvig: 'Kong David'

Kong David

Jeg gik i Marken og vogtede Faar,

Slog min Harpe i Skyggen af Palmer,

Glad som en Fugl i den faureste Vaar

Hopped rundt jeg og nynned paa Psalmer!

Da kom der Bud fra min Fader som bedst:

Skynd dig hjem! klæd dig paa! kom til Gilde!

Seeren siger, der fattes en Gjest,

Det er dig, kom nu ikke for silde!

Rødmusset blev jeg da mere end før,

Som en Fugl, som en Vind, jeg var hjemme,

Blegned kun flygtig ved Høielofts-Dør,

Da jeg hørde de Vældiges Stemme.

Bæger af Guld med den skummende Viin

Rakde Seeren brat mig i Salen,

Salved mit Hoved med Olie fiin,

Som en Dugg over Græsset i Dalen!

Mange i Salen saae skævt til mit Held,

Ikke vidste dog Nogen min Lykke,

Lønlig udsprang der i Barmen et Væld,

Som en Kilde i Palmernes Skygge.

Kongeligt blev da mit Sind og min Hu,

For min Hjord turde alting jeg vove,

Løver og Bjørne, dem trodsed jeg nu,

Trodsed meer, trodsed Falskhed til Hove.

Goliath praled med Hjelm og med Skjold,

Imod ham saae jeg ud som Græshoppen,

Dog med min Slynge jeg fældte den Trold,

Skildte godt ogsaa Hoved fra Kroppen!

Træde jeg maatte fuldmødige Fjed,

Over Stok, over Steen, i det Øde,

Før jeg fik Kronen at fryde mig ved,

Under den maatte Hjertet end bløde.

Konge dog blev jeg, navnkundig som Faa,

I Jerusalem godt jeg blev hjemme,

Og medens Throner paa Jorderig staae,

Davids-Harpen gaaer aldrig ad Glemme!

King David

In open fields I watched over my sheep

Under palm trees my harp I sat strumming,

Glad as a bird that in spring loves to cheep

I skipped back and forth, psalms sometimes humming!

From my father came the urgent request:

Hurry home! Banquet time! Don fine clothing!

For, says the prophet, we’re lacking a guest,

That is you, don’t be late, stop for nothing!

Ruddy cheeked grew I yet more than before,

Like a bird, a swift wind, homeward fleeting,

Only went pale at the banquet hall door

When I heard mighty men say their greeting.

A golden goblet of bright, foaming wine

Brought the prophet me – he did not dally –

Then anointed my head with oil so fine

As does dew all the grass in the valley!

Many regarded my fortune askance

But unknown to them all, bliss enbalmed me,

For in my breast rose a ne’er-ending dance,

Like a spring in the shade of the palm tree.

Kingly my mind became, noble and true,

For my flock would I everything venture,

I defied lions and bears from henceforth too,

Courtly falseness I even dared censure.

’Gainst boastful Goliath with sword and shield

I resembled a half-grown cicada,

And yet with my sling I made the giant yield

And my blow made his head fall much harder!

Many a weary step I had to tread,

Over hill and dale, deserts so arid,

Ere I a crown’s weight could feel on my head

Yet my heart still bled, troubled and harried.

King I became, famed as few are from birth,

In Jerusalem I had my dwelling,

And while thrones exist still upon this earth,

David’s harp’s fame will be for the telling.

https://kalliope.org/da/text/grundtvig2001061847

https://hojskolesangbogen.dk/om-sangbogen/historier-om-sangene/j-l/jeg-gik-i-marken-og-vogtede-faar

N.F.S. Grundtvig: 'Babels'Taarnet'

Babels-Taarnet

Paa Sletten ved Euphrat i Asialand,

Hvor nu kun boer Tiger og Løve,

Der Kæmperne fordum med Dværge-Forstand

Sig flokked for Konster at prøve;