Nurslings of our noble land,
Proudly sweep the solemn lyre,—
Gathered in heroic band,
Norway chant in words of fire!
At the name our sires arise,
At the name our hearts rebound,
Fiercely sparkle Norsemen's eyes
At that sweet and sacred sound!

When we think of days gone by,
Golden gleams our country's fame;
Forth, where Dovre meets the sky,
As to feast, the fighters came;
Fearless rovers crossed the seas,
Norse barks moored on foreign shores;
Home and heirloom liberties
Still had guards in countless scores.

Whilst the steel-clad warriors fought,
Whilst the martial clarion rung,
Hoary sage in silence thought,
Scald sublime in safety sung;
Clement monarchs, kings by right,
Ruled in wisdom, power, divine,—
Through the ages' murky night
Still their 'scutcheons stainless shine.

Time of glory—gone for aye!
But the Norsemen are the same;
In each brave heart burns to-day,
Pure as ever, freedom's flame;
When their fathers' deeds they sing,
Their hearts fill with joy and pride;
Nought seems sweetest southern spring,
By our icy Norway's side.

  ― 213 ―
Freedom's temple proudly towers,
Built by Norway's stalwart breed;
Freest thought of all is ours,
Freest word and freest deed;
Wildest woodbird, wildest wave—
They are not more free than we;
We obey the laws we gave—
Honest is our loyalty!

Darling land, of cloudclapt height,
Fertile valley, swarming shore,
Faith and love to thee we plight,—
Fain for thee our blood would pour;
Ever be our well-loved home,
Free as is thy moaning sea—
Whilst the billows round thee foam,
Wax in might and majesty!