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Updated: May 19, 2025
When I first knew him he was full of the poetry of his mother-land; his talk was of fjords and glaciers, of firs and birches, of hulders and nixies, of housemen and gaardsmen; but he was glad to be here, and I think he never regretted that he had cast his lot with us. Always, of course, he had the deepest interest in his country and countrymen.
When I first knew him he was full of the poetry of his mother-land; his talk was of fjords and glaciers, of firs and birches, of hulders and nixies, of housemen and gaardsmen; but he was glad to be here, and I think he never regretted that he had cast his lot with us. Always, of course, he had the deepest interest in his country and countrymen.
On the pleasant hillside sat they, where the silvery birches grow, And th' eternal sun of midnight bathed them in its fitful glow She a maid of eighteen summers, fresh and fair as Norway's spring; Tall and dark-browed he, like pine-woods in whose gloom the Hulders sing, When in silence, Deep-toned silence, Night lets droop her dusky wing.
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