Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) wrote the words for “I Love You”
Min Tankes Tanke ene du er vorden,
Du er mit Hjertes første Kærlighed.
Jeg elsker Dig, som Ingen her på Jorden,
Jeg elsker Dig i Tid og Evighed!
You have become the single thought of my thoughts,
you are the first love of my heart.
I love you as no one else here on Earth,
I love you for all time and eternity!
Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) is the author of “The Swan”
Min hvide svane
du stumme, du stille,
hverken slag eller trille
lod sangrøst ane.
Angst beskyttende
alfen, som sover,
altid lyttende
gled du henover.
Men sidste mødet,
da eder og øjne
var lønlige løgne,
ja da, da lød det!
I toners føden
du slutted din bane.
Du sang i døden;
du var dog en svane!
ENGLISH: My swan, my pale one,
of silence unbroken;
of your voice never a token
or sound did assail one.
Shyly hiding from elves
that you dread,
-listening, gliding,?
you timidly fled.
Aloft you sprang?
as death was overtaking
you life-silence breaking,
at last thou sang!
That song so cherished
for ever is gone then?
the singer has perished.
Were you only a swan then?
The words for “Fra Monte Pincio” were written by Bjønstjerne Bjørnson (1832-1910)
Aftenen kommer, Solen staar rød;
Farvende Straaler i Rummet henskylle
Lyslængsel’ns Glands i uendelig Fylde; —
Fjeldet forklares som Aasyn i Død.
Kuplerne gløder, men længere borte
Taagen langs Markernes blaalige Sorte
Vugger opover som Glemselen før:
Over hin Dal dækker tusind Aars Slør.
Aft’nen, hvor rød og varm,
Blusser af Folkelarm,
Glødende Hornmusik,
Blomster og brune Blik. —
Tankerne stræber i Farver og Toner
Trofast mod det, som forsoner.
Stille det bliver, end dunklere blaa,
Himmelen vaager og venter; — opunder
Fortid, som drømmer, og Fremtid, som stunder,
Usikre Blus i det rugende Graa!
Men de vil samle sig! Roma fremstige
Lystændt en Nat for Italiens Rige:
Klokkerne kime, Kanonerne slaa,
Minderne flamme paa Fremtidens Blaa! —
Yndigt om Haab og Tro
Op mod Nygifte to,
Jubler en Sanger til
Cither og Fløjtespil.
Stærkere Længsler faar barnesød Hvile; —
Mindre tør vaagne og smile.
ENGLISH: Evening how tender! Sunset how red!?
All with a roseate glow is enlightened,?
basking in sunshine the mountain is brightened,
rapt and serene as the face of the dead.
Domes in the sweet scented distance are gleaming,
mists blue and grey over the meadows come streaming,
rolling down as oblivion has rolled,
weaving a garment a thousand year old.
Gleaming all red and warm,
evening falls, people swarm;
mountain horns sound above,
flower-scent, looks of love.
All hearts could wish gleams and bounds sweetly near us,
yearning for beauty to cheer us.
Deepens the stillness, darkens the day,?
and from the ghosts of the past thus beholding
Heaven is surely the future unfolding,
shimmering vaguely in gathering grey.
But, like a beacon, will Rome one day waken,
brighten the darkness of Italy forsaken;
tocsins will echo and cannon will roar!
Fiercely will blaze out the spirit of yore.
Wedding strain, sound remain!?
Flute so gay, zither play!?
Out of time’s music impart?
hope to the trusting heart!?
Italy, look to the blessed goal unshaken;
tenderer feelings will waken.
Bjørnson was also the author of “Hidden Love”
Han tvær over Bænkene hang;
hun lystig i Dandsen sig svang.
Hun legte, hun lo, med En og med To; —
hans Hjerte var nærved at briste.
Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.
Hun gikk bag ved Laden den Kveld,
han kom for at sige Farvel.
Hun kasted’ sig ned, hun græd og hun græd,
sit Livs Haab, det skulde hun miste.
Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.
Ham Tiden faldt frygtelig lang.
Saa kom han tilbage engang.
— Hun havde det godt; hun Fred havde faa’t;
hun tænkte paa ham i det Sidste.
Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.
ENGLISH: He kept to the bench
While she danced all the time.
She played and she smiled with one and with two
And his heart was close to bursting
But no one was aware of this.
She slipped behind the barn that evening
He came to say goodbye.
She fell to the ground and wept and wept.
She would miss her hope in life.
But no one was aware of this.
Time seemed so long to him
And he came back once again.
She was all right, for she had found peace
And she thought of him to the end;
But no one was aware of this.
Aasmund Olavsson Vinje (1818-1870) wrote the poetry for “The Last Spring”
for Våren at røma;
Heggen med Tre som der Blomar var på,
eg atter såg bløma.
Enno ein Gong fekk eg Isen at sjå
frå Landet at fljota,
Snjoen at bråna og Fossen i Å
at fyssa og brjota.
Graset det grøne eg enno ein Gong
fekk skoda med Blomar;
enno eg høyrde at Vårfuglen song
mot Sol og mot Sumar.
Eingong eg sjølv i den vårlege Eim
som mettar mit Auga,
eingong eg der vil meg finna ein Heim
og symjande lauga.
Alt det som Våren imøte meg bar
og Blomen eg plukkad’,
Federnes Ånder eg trudde det var,
som dansad’ og sukkad’,
Derfor eg fann millom Bjørkar og Bar
i Våren ei Gåta;
derfor det Ljod i den Fløyta eg skar,
meg tyktes at gråta.
ENGLISH: Yes, once again winter’s face would I see
to Spring’s glory waning,
white-thorn outspreading its clusters so free
in beauty enchaining.
Once more behold from the earth day by day
the ice disappearing,
snow melting fast and in thunder and spray
the river careening.
Emerald meadows, your flowers I’d spy
and hail each newcomer,
listen again to the lark in the sky
who warbles of summer.
Once more I’m drawn to the Spring-gladdened vale
that stills my longing;
there I find sunlight and rest without fail,
and raptures come thronging.
All unto which here the Spring gives birth,
each flower I have plucked,
seems to me now I am parting from the earth
a spirit from Heaven.
Therefore I hear all around from the ground
mysterious singing,
music from reeds that of old I made sound,
like sighs faintly ringing.