Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/273



Enough, enough. Your bitterness You presently shall rue. Had I known you outlawed, shelterless, Hunted the country through— Trust me, the day that brought you here Would have seemed the fairest of many a year; And a feast I had counted it indeed When you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.

What say you—? How shall I read your mind?

Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.

But you said of late—?

To that pay no heed. Or hear me, and understand indeed. For me is life but a long, black night, Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright. I have sold my youth and my liberty, And none from my bargain can set me free. My heart's content I have bartered for gold, With gilded chains I have fettered myself; Trust me, it is but comfort cold To the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf. How blithe was my childhood—how free from care!