Page:Von Heidenstam - Sweden's laureate, selected poems of Verner von Heidenstam (1919).djvu/142

Let each have his voice as we did of old
When a shield was the freeman's measure,
And not all be reckoned like sacks of gold
By a merchant counting his treasure.

We fought for our homes together when
Our coast by the foe was blighted.
It was not alone the gentlemen
Drew sword when the beacons were lighted.
Not only the gentlemen sank to earth
But also the faithful yoemen;
'Tis a blot on our flag that we reckon worth
By wealth, and poor men are no men.

'Tis a shame to do as we oft have done,—
Give strangers the highest places,
But beat our own doors with many a stone
And publish our own disgraces.
We are weary of bleeding by our own knife,
When the heart from the head we sever;
We would be as one folk with a single life,
Which we are and would be forever.

V.
 
Soldiers' Song.
 
Beat the drums there, boys! Go ahead, make way!
Hurrah for country and king!
Hurrah for the Riksdag, where old men stay,
Pound the gavel and scratch at their heads all day,