Just therefore must we part. Our joy’s torch fire Will from this moment wane till it expire! And when at last our worldly days are spent, And face to face with our great Judge we stand, And, as a righteous God, he shall demand Of us the earthly treasure that he lent— Then, Falk, we cry—past power of Grace to save— “O Lord, we lost it going to the grave!” FALK [_with strong resolve_]. Pluck off the ring! SVANHILD [_with fire_]. Wilt thou? FALK. Now I divine! Thus and no otherwise canst thou be mine! As the grave opens into life’s Dawn-fire, So Love with Life may not espoused be Till, loosed from longing and from wild desire, It soars into the heaven of memory! Pluck off the ring, Svanhild! SVANHILD [_in rapture_]. My task is done! Now I have filled thy soul with song and sun. Forth! Now thou soarest on triumphant wings,— Forth! Now thy Svanhild is the swan that sings! [_Takes off the ring and presses a kiss upon it._ To the abysmal ooze of ocean bed Descend, my dream!—I fling thee in its stead! [_Goes a few steps back, throws the ring into the fjord, and approaches_ FALK _with a transfigured expression._ Now for this earthly life I have foregone thee,— But for the life eternal I have won thee! FALK [_firmly_]. And now to the day’s duties, each, alone. Our paths no more will mingle. Each must wage His warfare single-handed, without moan. We caught the fevered frenzy of the age, Fain without fighting to secure the spoil, Win Sabbath ease, and shirk the six days’ toil, Tho’ we are called to strive and to forego. SVANHILD. But not in sickness. FALK. No,—made strong by truth. Our heads no penal flood will overflow; This never-dying memory of our youth Shall gleam against the cloud-wrack like the bow Of promise flaming in its colours seven,— Sign that we are in harmony with heaven. That gleam your quiet duties shall make bright— SVANHILD. And speed the poet in his upward flight! FALK.