Bergen

As thou sittest there
    Skerry-bound and fair,
Mountains high around and ocean's deep before thee,
    On thee casts her spell
    Saga, that shall tell
Once again the wonders of our land.

    Honor is thy due,
    "Bergen never new,"
Ancient and unaging as thy Holberg's humor;
    Once kings sought thine aid,—
    Mighty now in trade,—
First to fly the flag of liberty.

    Oft in proud array,
    As a sunshine-day
Breaks forth from thy rain and fog wind-driven,
    Thou didst come with men
    Or great deeds again,
When the clouds were darkest o'er our land.

    Thy soul was the ground,
    Wit-enriched and sound,
Whence there sprang stout thoughts to make our country's harvest,
    Whence our arts exist,
    In their birth-hour kissed
By thy nature, somber, large, and strong.

    In thy mountain-hall
    Learned our painter, Dahl;
Wand'ring on thy strands our poet dreamed, Welhaven;
    All thy morning's gold
    Ole Bull ensouled,
Greeted on thy bay by all the world.

    With thy sea-wide sway
    Thou hast might for aye,
Fjords of blue convey thy life-blood through our country.
    Norway's spirit thou
    Dost with joy endow,—
Great thy past, no less thy future great.