How oft a brave norseman with glances so fond
doth gaze o'er the seas to the south beyond,
when autumn threatens the North.
And if he can journey, his heart is so gay,
his sail he unfurls and he hastes away,
forth from his home and fjord.

But when the day comes and his thoughts home repair,
he fain would be told, if 'tis springtime there,
then glows he with longing I ween,
and thinking and yearning, he sleeps not at all,
he sees the lambs frolic, hears cuckoos call
in Norway on pastures green.

Ah! then he is glad and his heart beats high,
the harbor safe he can just descry,
the bendings and creeks in the fjord.
For all who were born on those bleak shores, know well 
that feeling within them and surely can tell
when springtime doth gladden the North!