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To Aasmund Olafsen Vinje
By Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson
(SUNG AT HIS WIFE'S GRAVE)
(See Note 48)
Your house to guests has shelter lent,
While you with pen were seated.
In silent quest they came and went,
You saw them not, nor greeted.
But when now they
Were gone away,
Your babe without a mother lay,
And you had lost your helpmate.
The home you built but yesterday
In death to-day is sinking,
And you stand sick and worn and gray
On ruins of your thinking.
Your way lay bare
Since child you were,
The shelter that you first could share
Was this that now is shattered.
But know, the guests that to you came
In sorrow's waste will meet you;
Though shy you shrink, they still will claim
The right with love to treat you.
For where you go
To you they show
The world in radiant light aglow
Of great and wondrous visions.
What once you saw, now passing o'er,
Will but be made the clearer;
It is the far eternal shore,
That on your way draws nearer.
Your poet-sight
Will see in light
All that the clouds have wrapped in night; -
Great doubts will find an answer.
And later when you leave again
The waste of woe thought-pregnant,
Whom you have met shall teach us then.
Your pen in power regnant.
From sorrow's weal
With purer zeal,
Inspiring light, and pain's appeal
Shall shine your wondrous visions.
Extra Info:
TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN IN THE ORIGINAL METERS BY ARTHUR HUBBELL PALMER
Professor of the German Language and Literature In Yale University
Note 48.
TO AASMUND OLAFSEN VINJE. Vinje, the son of a poor cottager, was
born on a farm in Telemarken, April 6, 1818, and died July 30, 1870.
Poverty and his peculiar personality made life hard for him from
first to last. Bent on testing all things for himself, he came into
conflict with the authorities. He was discharged from a school in
Mandal in 1848 because of his scoffing criticism of a religious
schoolbook. He went then to Heltberg's School in
Christiania, soon after became a student in the University, and
passed the state examination in law in 1856. But his life was
devoted to literary pursuits, and he was most gifted as a lyric
poet. In 1858 Vinje went over completely to the Landsmaal
(see Note 80), and in this form of dialect found his natural medium
of expression. In October of the same year he began his weekly
paper, Dölen, in which he treated all the current interests.
Although one of the most advanced thinkers and keenest combatants in
his country's spiritual conflicts, he stood very much alone, a great
skeptic and satirist, who practiced irony with the highest art.
Vinje had no home of his own until after his marriage on June 20,
1869. His wife died immediately after the birth of a son, on April
12, 1870. At her burial on April 16 Björnson was present, and
taking Vinje's hand ended an estrangement which had existed for some
years because of Vinje's unjustly harsh criticism of Björnson's
early peasant tales, and other rather personal attacks.
Guests, the angel of life and the angel of death.
You stand sick, with the incurable disease which caused his death
a few months later.
Great and wondrous visions, probably (cf. also the following
stanza) of the truth of the orthodox faith, which Björnson at the
time still firmly held.
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