SVANHILD.
Har hun ikke delt
sit sjæleguld med ham og alle frender,
sat ud sin kapital på hundred hænder,
så ingen skylder hende summen helt?
Hos ingen af dem har hun alt at kræve,
for ingen af dem har hun helt at leve.
O, jeg er tifold rigere end hun;
jeg har en eneste i verden kun.
Tomt var mit hjerte, da med sejersfaner,
med tusindfoldig sang du drog derind;
du råder der på alle tankens baner;
lig vårens vellugt fylder du mit sind.
Ja, jeg må takke Gud i denne time,
at jeg var ensom indtil dig jeg fandt, –
at jeg var død og hørte klokken kime,
som kaldte mig til lys fra livets tant.
SVANHILD.
Has she not divided
With kith and kin the treasure of her soul,
Her capital to fifty hands confided,
So that not one is debtor for the whole?
From no one has she all things to receive,
For no one has she utterly to live.
O beside my wealth hers is little worth;
I have but one possession upon earth.
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.
