Of long toil 't is a matter <br />Through many a silent age, <br />Before such power can shatter <br />Time-hallowed custom's cage. <br />The soul-fruit of the peasant, <br />Though seldom seed was sown, <br />It is our honor present,- <br />Our future sure foreknown. <br /> <br />The fjords that earnest waited <br />'Mid mountain-snows around <br />His childhood's thoughts created <br />And depth of life profound. <br />The highlands' sun that played there <br />On fjord and mountain snow <br />So wide a vision made there <br />As one could wish to know. <br /> <br />When <br />he <br />to Ting repairing <br />Would plead the peasant's right, <br />Each word a beam was bearing. <br />To make our young day bright. <br />It came like ancient story <br />Or long-lost song's refrain; <br />What crowned our past with glory <br />It made our present gain. <br /> <br />Though in his boat a seaman, <br />A farmer in his field, <br />Ne'er finer thoughts did freeman <br />In royal council wield. <br />His years bear witness ready <br />That we shall yet achieve <br />Our people's self-rule steady, <br />He taught us to believe. <br /> <br />When weary, worn, and aged, <br />His faith was ever strong; <br />The people's war he wagèd <br />For victory erelong. <br />Beneath the banner dying, <br />He would not yet give o'er, <br />And him Valkyries flying <br />Home to Valhalla bore. <br /> <br />From wintry night and bitter <br />He was with stately tread <br />In Saga's hall a-glitter <br />Before the high-sear led. <br />Old heroes proud or merry <br />Rising to greet him went, <br />But first of all King Sverre, <br />From whom was his descent.<br /><br />Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ole-gabriel-ueland/
