"Flomma, lomma, hys,
Sang I of a kiss,
No, thou surely art mistaken.
Didst thou hear it, say?
Cast the thought away;
Look on me as one forsaken.
"Oh, good-night! good-night!
Dreams of eyes so bright,
Hold me now in soft embraces,
But that wily word,
Which thou thought'st unheard,
Leaves in me of love no traces.
"I my window close,
But in sweet repose
Songs from thee I hear returning;
Calling me they smile,
And my thoughts beguile,--
Must I e'er for thee be yearning?"
CHAPTER XII.
Several years have passed since the last scene.
It is well on in the autumn. The school-master comes walking up to
Nordistuen, opens the outer door, finds no one at home, opens another,
finds no one at home; and thus he keeps on until he reaches the
innermost room in the long building. There Ole Nordistuen is sitting
alone, by the side of his bed, his eyes fixed on his hands.
The school-master salutes him, and receives a greeting in return; he
finds a stool, and seats himself in front of Ole.
"You have sent for me," he says.
"I have."
The school-master takes a fresh quid of tobacco, glances around the
room, picks up a book that is lying on the bench, and turns over the
leaves.
"What did you want of me?"
"I was just sitting here thinking it over.
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