at det findes af ham eller hende.
Men finder de end, de brandlidte to,
det dyre, ildfaste smykke,—
aldrig hun finder sin brændte tro,
han aldrig sin brændte lykke.
THEY SAT THERE, THE TWO—
They sat there, the two, in so cosy a house, through autumn and winter days. Then the house burned down. Everything lies in ruins. The two must grope among the ashes.
For among them is hidden a jewel—a jewel that never can burn. And if they search faithfully, it may easily happen that he or she may find it.
But even should they find it, the burnt-out two—find this precious unburnable jewel—never will she find her burnt faith, he never his burnt happiness.
This is the latest piece of Ibsen’s verse that has been given to the world; but one of his earliest poems—first printed in 1858—was also, in some sort, a prelude to The Master Builder. Of this a literal translation may suffice. It is called