Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/508



Congratulations!

[to his comrades]. Thanks, my friends! [to his comrades]. There goes our whole fish-kettle in the fire! Our tenor lost! No possible amends! [Coming from the right, in summer suit, with student's cap, knapsack and stick.

I'll sing the tenor in young Norway's choir!

You, Falk! hurrah!

Forth to the mountains, come! As the bee hurries from her winter home! A twofold music in my breast I bear, A cither with diversely sounding strings, One for life's joy, a treble loud and clear, And one deep note that quivers as it sings.

[To individuals among the.

You have the palette?—You the note-book? Good, Swarm then, my bees, into the leafy wood, Till at night-fall with pollen-laden thigh, Home to our mighty mother-queen we fly!