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Translated by Rasmus B. Anderson
THERE quivers a glittering summer air | |
| Warm o’er Hardanger Fjord’s fountains, | |
| Where high ’gainst the heavens, so blue and bare, | |
| Are towering the mighty mountains; | |
| The glacier shines bright, | 5 |
| The hillside is green, | |
| The people are clad in their Sunday clothes clean; | |
| For look! o’er the blue billows rowing, | |
| The wedding-folks home are going. | |
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| A beautiful princess from times of old, | 10 |
| With crown and with scarlet and crimson, | |
| Sits high on the boat-stern so fair to behold, | |
| Than fjord and the daylight more winsome. | |
| The hat of the bridegroom, how happy it flies! | |
| For home he is bringing his loveliest prize; | 15 |
| He sees in her eyes reflected | |
| The hopes of his life perfected. | |
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| Hardanger’s weird instruments now pour forth | |
| Strange tunes o’er the billows resounding, | |
| The mountains give back every gun’s report, | 20 |
| And echoes of joy are rebounding. | |
| The maids of the bride of sport get their lot; | |
| The man of the feast, he has not forgot | |
| To serve unending potations | |
| And honor the bride’s relations. | 25 |
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| And thus they row onward with music gay, | |
| Their way o’er the bright waters wending; | |
| And boat after boat makes up the array, | |
| The guests all in gladness contending. | |
| The clefts all look blue, the mountain-tops shine, | 30 |
| Sweet fragrance comes down from the apple and pine; | |
| The bells in the church-tower ringing | |
| Rich blessings from God are bringing. | |
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| And just at this moment, so soon to depart,— | |
| The drops on the oars are still gleaming,— | 35 |
| The artist has caught with his loving heart | |
| This picture with beauty beaming. | |
| He shows to the world the work of his hand, | |
| That all may observe our glorious land, | |
| And learn the wonderful stories | 40 |
| That add to our Norse fjords’ glories. | |
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