Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/104

 To all my labours you and he Have brought light and tranquillity; Each irksome task, each mournful care, 'Twas easy, in your midst, to bear; You near, I never felt dismay, Grew braver by his baby-play. A martyrdom I held my Call, But something has transform'd it all,— Success still follows my footfall.

Yes, Brand; but you deserve success. Oh, you have battled, in storm and stress;— Toil'd on through woe and weariness;— But tears of blood you wept, apart

And yet it seem'd so light a thing; With you, love stole upon my heart Like a glad sunny day in Spring. In me Love never had been lit; No parents' hand had kindled it, Rather they quench'd the fitful flashes That gleam'd at moments in the ashes. It was as though the tender Soul That mute and darkling in me slept, Had, closely garner'd, all been kept To be my sweet Wife's aureole.

Not mine alone: but whosoe'er In our great Household has a share, Each sorrowing son, each needy brother, Each weeping child, each mourning mother, Of quickening nurture have their part, At the rich banquet of thy heart.