The worst was leaving my little sister;—
But parting from father was worse, still worse;
And worst to leave her at whose breast I was borne;—
Oh no, God forgive me, the worst I must call
The sorrow of leaving them all, ay all!
Peer.
And you know the doom that was passed in spring?
It forfeits my farm and my heritage.
Solveig.
Think you for heritage, goods, and gear,