On the death of n. f. s. grundtvig

Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

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E'en as the Sibyl in Northland-dawn drew
Forth from the myth-billows gliding,
Told all the past, all the future so true,
Sank with the lands' last subsiding,--
Prophecies leaving, eternally new,
Still abiding

Thus goes his spirit the Northland before,--
Though, that he sank, we have tiding,--
Visions unfolding like sun-clouds, when o'er
Sea-circled lands they are riding,
Northern lands' future, till time is no more,
Ever guiding.

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