Norwegian seamen's song

Norwegian seamen are
A folk grown strong 'neath sail and spar;
Where boats can find a way,
The best men there are they.
On high seas or at home,
In calm or when the storm-waves comb,
To God their prayer they make,
Their lives they gladly stake.

Incessant is their strife,
They wage with death a war for life,
And dear their souls they sell
In conflicts none can tell.
All that is commonplace
In history seldom leaves its trace,
And often none is there,
The tidings home to bear.

But fishing-boats in need
Have shown so many a daring deed

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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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I have worked in a very close and cordial way with Norwegian representatives at many international meetings, and the pleasure I felt at those associations was equaled only by the profit I always secured from them.

quote by Lester B. Pearson
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Alfred’s Song

In the Beginning when, out of darkness,
The Earth, the Heaven,
The stars, the seasons,
The mighty mainland,
And whale-ploughed water,
By God the Maker
Were formed and fashioned,
Then God made England.

He made it shapely,
With land-locked inlets,
And gray-green nesses;
With rivers roaming
From fair-leafed forests
Through windless valleys,
Past plain and pasture,
To sloping shingle:
Thus God made England.

Then like to the long-backed bounding billows,

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poem by Alfred Austin
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Far Alaska

Placing people in their dreamscape
With fantasies of foreign fields
Lofty spires all well appointed
In off-season special deals.
To far alaska: down to ria in the carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of solstice call
A part of me might travel with you
In a freebie bucket seat for one
Business first - at last, forever
Hopeless thoughts of flying fun
Now get me out of here I cry in air rage psycho-doom
Im only dream-arranging from the safety of my room
Pick a place or stcik a pin in
Any corner of the sphere
Post me cards and tell me nicely
Say you wish that I was here
To far alaska: down to rio in the carnival
Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of solstice call

song performed by Jethro Tull
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I was born in Norway, and when I was little I went to live in Detroit, Michigan. My father was a professor of philosophy at Wayne University, and my mother was also a teacher.

quote by Marta Kristen
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A Shakespeare could have arisen only on English soil. In the same way, your great dramatists and poets express the nature and essence of the Norwegian people, but they also express that which is universally valid for all mankind.

quote by Gustav Stresemann
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I really enjoy myself in Norway. Because I had started losing confidence in my ability of what I do. But sometimes, man, you just get tired of fighting and trying to prove yourself.

quote by Ike Turner
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The mass killer captured dead; but the offspring still alive

An unconfirmed report says the barbarian Mr.Velupillai Prabhakaran was captured,
Who was the most dangerous terrorist leader in the cruel World.
The poor citizen of Sri-Lanka are preparing for a grand scale Island-wide celebration to-day to commemorate the defeat of Tamil Terrorism.
Be alert dear friends! The Sinhala tiger leader is still alive who roams around the world now and also the foreign counterpart supply ingredients to the turmoil.
I heard that Norwegian uncles already sent a special plastic barrel to collect crocodile tears.
I suggest the funeral should take place in Great Britain, Norway or Canada?

*My sincere salutation to all Armed forces who gave their lives and the poor citizen of Tamils.May his disturbed soul rest in peace with the deceased former Prime minister of India Mrs.Indhira.Ghandi

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Gandhi Won No Noble Peace Prize?

beautiful Mahatma Gandhi
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
his philosophy pre-eminent

'Great Soul, ' non-violent
never ordered invaded land
never won Noble Peace Prize

eternal shame stains
Norwegian Noble Committee
political bias not pretty

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Answer From Norway To The Speeches In The Swedish House Of Nobles, 1860

Have you heard what says the Swede now,
Young Norwegian man?
Have you seen what forms proceed now,
Border-watch to plan?
Shades of those from life departed,
Our forefathers single-hearted,
Who, when words like these were said,
Mounted guard and knew no dread.

Says the Swede now: That our cherished
Norseland's banner red,
That which flew when Magnus perished,
As to-day outspread,
Which o'er Fredrikshald victorious
And o'er Adler waved all glorious,
That the Swedish yellow-blue
Must in shame henceforth eschew.

Says the Swede now: Lost their luster
Have our memories,

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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Thora

Come under my cloak, my darling!
Thou little Norwegian main!
Nor wind, nor rain, nor rolling sea
Shall chill or make thee afraid.

Come close, little blue-eyed maiden,
Nestle within my arm;
Thought the lightning leaps and the thunder peals,
We shall be safe from harm.

Swift from the dim horizon
The dark sails scud for the land.
Look, how the rain-cloud drops its fringe
About us on either hand!

And high from our plunging bowsprit
Dashes the cold white spray,
And storm and tumult fill the air
And trouble the summer day.

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poem by Celia Thaxter
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Karen

At her low quaint wheel she sits to spin,
Deftly drawing the long, light rolls
Of carded wool through her finders thin,
By the fireside at the Isles of Shoals.

She is not pretty, she is not young,
Poor homesick Karen, who sits and spins,
Humming a song in her tongue,
That falters and stops, and again begins,

While her wheel flies fast, with its drowsy hum,
And she makes a picture of pensive grace
As thoughts of her well-loved Norway come
And deepen the shadows across her face.

Her collar is white as the drifted snow,
And she spun and wove her blue gown fine
With those busy hands. See, a flitting glow
Makes her pale cheek burn and her dark eyes shine!

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poem by Celia Thaxter
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Jabberwocky Redux

After reading too much Aquinas

Would an aphid reside in an onager's ear
if the onager's master spoke Twi?
Or a Gascony scop with a leper elope
if a civet leapt out of a tree?
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

Would an addax in Denmark gyrate
if an emu in Sweden bore freight?
Or an eland in Chile complain
if jerboas in Goa refrain?
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

For really I thought ‘twas the onager taught
the aphid the tenor of Twi, and that
Gascony scops with Norwegians eloped
when Danes had lepers to tea.
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Having Lost My Sons, I Confront the Wreckage of the Moon: Christmas, 1960

After dark
Near the South Dakota border,
The moon is out hunting, everywhere,
Delivering fire,
And walking down hallways
Of a diamond.

Behind a tree,
It ights on the ruins
Of a white city
Frost, frost.

Where are they gone
Who lived there?

Bundled away under wings
And dark faces.

I am sick
Of it, and I go on

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poem by James Arlington Wright
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Iceland, though it lies so far to the north that it is partly within the Arctic Circle, is, like Norway, Scotland, and Ireland, affected by the Gulf Stream, so that considerable portions of it are quite habitable.

quote by Harry Johnston
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Season Of Growth: The Swan Road

Jarl (Old English eorl Earl) ‘a man of noble birth’; hence used as the title of hereditary Norse and Danish chieftains; later, of the royal liege-man next in rank to the king whom they followed. An old Norse and Danish chieftain or under-king.

Remember chill child channelling infamous ice,
listening intently as if awaiting what;
among helm heights of wind blown crags?
Straining to catch each Wodan word, dripping;
dripping slowly, from thrive thawing ice.
Grim grain weathered wheat waiting;
for birth bright born sun warmth water.
Hopelessly longing for season of growth
to burst forth heralded by ye breath of spring.

Jarl lifts face before wenian leave taking wind
to hail heavens these heraldic words Jarl cries.
“Mine ancestors have fought bleed died;
under eal earth’s parched foreign skies. eal A.S. all
Froth looting alien plain; raid memory;
was locked in all descendant brains.
Awaiting chill coming ravenous rains;
for raid warriors who draft row survived,

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sleep On!

Fear no unlicensed entry,
Heed no bombastic talk,
While guards the British Sentry
Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.
Let European thunders
Occasion no alarms,
Though diplomatic blunders
May cause a cry "To arms!"
Sleep on, ye pale civilians;
All thunder-clouds defy:
On Europe's countless millions
The Sentry keeps his eye!

Should foreign-born rapscallions
In London dare to show
Their overgrown battalions,
Be sure I'll let you know.
Should Russians or Norwegians
Pollute our favoured clime
With rough barbaric legions,

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Hamar-Made Matches

'Here your Hamar-made matches!'-
Of them these verses I sang;
A thought to which humor attaches,
But yet to my heart sparks sprang.

Sparks from the box-side flying
Sank deep in my memory,
Till in a light undying
Two eyes cast their spell on me,-

Light on the fire that's present,
When faith blazes forth in deed.
Know, that to every peasant
Those eyes sent a light in need.

Sent to souls without measure
The flame of love's message broad,
Gathering in one treasure
Fatherland, home, and God.

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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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May seventeenth

Wergeland's statue on May seventeenth
Saw the procession. And as its rear-guard,
Slow marching masses,
Strong men, and women with flower-decked presence;
Come now the peasants, come now the peasants.

Österdal's forest's magnificent chieftain
Bore the old banner. Soon as we see it
Blood-red uplifted,
Greet it the thousands in thought of its story:
That is our glory, that is our glory!

Never that lion bore crown that was foreign,
Never that cloth was by Dannebrog cloven.
I saw the
future
,
When with that banner by Wergeland's column
Peasants stood solemn, peasants stood solemn.

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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Rage of the North

Inside a fire burns unimaginably bright
It illuminates the darkest night
Consumes my mind, ignites my soul
The fire rages out of control
My eyes glow red with vengeance, hatred, rage
My inner demons screaming, no longer caged
I am Berserker, the Norseman's fire
I fight with passion, rage, desire
A bloodlust roar my only sound
It's echo thunders for miles around
I am Berserker, the sword of the North
Let my enemies come forth
I am rage personified
I will leave my foes terrified
Spread my legend, spread the fear
And know the Rage of the North draws near

poem by Tim Vallie
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