Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/283



I? No, no. I only meant—

It grows like the oak tree through slow-rolling years; 'Tis nourished by dreams, and by songs and by tears.

[Returning to herself.] You said that—?

[Drawing her hand over her brow.] Nay, 'twas nothing. Come, we must go meet our guests.

With song and harping enter we   The feast-hall opened wide; Peace to our hostess kind and free, All happiness to her betide. O'er Solhoug's roof for ever may Bright as to-day The heavens abide.