So as _she_ had given,
Has no one given. She gave of her sorrow,
With bleeding heart beneath her winsome smile.
She shared with us the tears her conflict brought,
The radiant glory of her victory.
Thanks, prayer-borne thanks, you noble soul,
From all your brothers, from your sisters all!
From Norway's youthful art enduring thanks!
From women to their pure interpreter
Farewell and thanks!--From all those whom you lifted
On pinions of the spirit high to beauty
Once more a wreath is brought,--it is the last.
_(Laying it before the bust)_
Now God in His bright heaven makes you glad,
And we will make you glad with good remembrance.
CHORUS
_(Behind the scenes, softly)_
Farewell, farewell!
Now in your grave
No want is known;
But what you gave,
We ever own.
Your spirit's seed
Shall blossom here,
Bear fruit in deed,
And sad hearts cheer.
TO JOHAN DAHL, BOOKDEALER
(ON HIS SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY)
(See Note 31)
Our glasses we lift now and drink to our host!
"Hurrah!"
Give heed to our ditty, we sing you our toast!
"Aha!"
The first thing appearing is what he was nearing,
When uproar not fearing he came for a hearing
'Fore skerry-bred eagle
And Wergeland regal.
Oh! Ha!
He came like an innocent spring-lambkin ewe-born,
Oh, woe!
So neat and so fine in his guilelessness new-born
Like snow.
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