And to live are all men fain.
Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain,
My couch on the hillside forced to make,
With for pillow the boulder grey.
Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger,
And pray him for aid in the hour of danger,
Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way:
I thought: When to Solhoug you come at last
Then all your pains will be done and past.
You have sure friends there, whatever betide.—