Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/460

 My heart was lordless when with trumpet blare And multitudinous song you came, its king, The banners of my thought your ensign bear, You fill my soul with glory, like the spring. Yes, I must needs thank God, when it is past, That I was lonely till I found out thee,— That I lay dead until the trumpet blast Waken'd me from the world's frivolity.

Yes we, who have no friends on earth, we twain Own the true wealth, the golden fortune,—we Who stand without, beside the starlit sea, And watch the indoor revel thro' the pane. Let the lamp glitter and the song resound, Let the dance madly eddy round and round;— Look up, my Svanhild, into yon deep blue,— There glitter little lamps in thousands, too—

And hark, beloved, thro' the limes there floats This balmy eve a chorus of sweet notes—

It is for us that fretted vault's aglow—

It is for us the vale is loud below!

I feel myself like God's lost prodigal; I left Him for the world's delusive charms. With mild reproof He wooed me to His arms; And when I come, He lights the vaulted hall,