Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/322



Ta'en by Knut Gesling, with bow and spear, Swung on the croup of his battle-horse, And made his wife by force.

Quick, let us flee. But whither go?

Down by the fiord a friend I know; He'll find us a ship. O'er the salt sea foam We'll sail away south to Denmark's bowers. There waits you there a happy home; Right joyously will fleet the hours; The fairest of flowers they bloom in the shade Of the beech-tree glade.

Farewell, my poor sister! Like mother tender Thou hast guarded the ways my feet have trod, Hast guided my footsteps, aye praying to God, The Almighty, to be my defender.— Gudmund—here is a goblet filled with mead; Let us drink to her; let us wish that ere long Her soul may again be calm and strong, And that God may be good to her need.