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Oe Sp ARO
ae
TO HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 157
And that was Olaf Trygvason,
Fast the land seemed locked at first,
All of his youthful, kingly longings
Doomed on the cliffs to burst, —
Until a skald discovered
Shining domes in the cloud-mists, that hovered.
And that was Olaf Trygvason,
Seemed to see before his eyes
Mottled and gray some timeless temple
Lifting white domes to the skies.
Sorely he longed to win it,
Stand and hallow his young faith within it.
TO HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
(AT A SUMMER-FETE FOR HIM IN CHRISTIANIA, 187: )
WE welcome you this wondrous summer-day,
When childhood’s dreams on earth are streaming,
To bloom and sing, to brighten and to pale;
A fairy-tale,
A fairy-tale, our Northland all is seeming,
And holds you in its arms a festal space
With grateful glee and whisperings face to face.
Th’ angelic noise,
Sweet strains of children’s joys,
Bears you a moment to that home
Whence all our dreams, whence all our dreams have come,
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