That heart and mind should be light, what wonder?
Gudmund.
In the King’s high hall I found not the joy
That I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy.
Margit.
[Without looking at him.]
While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past,
Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast.
Gudmund.
’Tis well if for this you can thankful be—