And she was part of this! The first full tone Thrilled her breast too and woke a thousand mem'ries Of something that she ne'er before had known! On that first evening, when the curtain rose, With timid step one clad in white came forth And begged for Norway's art, for our young drama A home in Norway,—but with so great fear, The gentle voice was trembling, dim the eyes; Yet from the voice, the eyes, the form, the bearing Was heard a promise in sweet modesty; For she who spoke those first words on this Stage, That maiden dark with eyes so deep and true, Lo, it was she!

And soon her art shone clear

And softly radiant through the evening hours.—
With fairy lightness fell its magic gleams
On hidden longings, sorrows half-concealed,-
But gently, tenderly. If joy she touched,
'T was always softly. But we all could feel
A stream of power so full, that if she had
In an unguarded hour let it flow free
With all its deep and swelling tide sincere,
It would have borne herself from earth away.

In truth, the calmness of her course through life Was never weakness, but was strength controlled; Was never fear, but veneration deep

For those whose souls are great: a model she

For noble women as for forceful men,—
This wreath we weave for her pure memory.'

But what she thus had early taught herself, She taught to others. When upon the stage She stood, depicting woman's painful conflict With rudeness, violence, and wild desire, Then,

though she wielded but a woman's weapons, Her silent dignity, her subtle smile,

Her light derision, all-subduing laughter,

A spirit-dawn gleamed from their flashing play,
To usher in a day of victory.

She barriers raised around the woman weak
(Down-trodden in a half-built social order),
She stood forth here so many an evening-hour
And talked to thousands of a woman's worth.
Although her call was not fully to free
All that a woman's heart may hope and dream,
She shielded it secure in all its beauty.

This conflict made her reticent, severe; But sometimes in a song her spirit could Send forth glad tidings, messages of freedom, Her large free soul revealing. Then we heard Such longing after full, unbroken peace,

Our thoughts were captive held by sad foreboding.

'Tis now come true! The crape of mourning droops

About her name, the tolling bell is still.

Her final summons gather us once more

Before her stage, and here our thanks we utter
For what she gave us. 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)

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.

The flesh so delicious was chopped up to farce-meat,
And later by Wergeland found for a farce meet,

And gayly 't was swallowed,

And all the bones hollowed
And strown.

But swift as Thor's he-goats to life again skipping,

He sprang

Whole skinned together, and gave them a whipping That rang.

This made him seem worthy to join the gay party, At once they received him in fellowship hearty!

And soon was no other

More loved as a brother
Than Dahl.

The light from his shop spread afar and made brighter

Our day.

His drawing-room gathered so many a fighter

In play.

Our taste there was made and our critical passion, The shop was a power, new Norway to fashion. Though little, its story

Shall some time in glory
Be writ.

For what you have kindled, endured, and aspired, Our thanks!

For hearts you have gladdened and souls you have fired,

Our thanks!

For all your good faith in your fervor and ranting, Yes, for your whole-heartedness free from all cant

ing,

You whimsical, queer one,
Old fellow, you dear one,

Our thanks!