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Einar.
Yet a trace
Surely there lingers of an old
Friend of my school-days—
Brand.
School-friends, true;
But now I am no more a boy.
Einar.
Can it be?
[Cries out suddenly.]
Brand! It is! O joy!
Brand.
From the first moment I knew you.
Einar.
Well met! a thousand times well met!
Look at me!—Ay, the old Brand yet,
Still centred on the things within,
Whom never any one could win
To join our gambols.
Brand.
You forget
That I was homeless and alone.
Yet you at least I loved, I own.
You children of the southern land
Were fashion'd of another clay
Than I, born by a rocky strand
In shadow of a barren brae.
Einar.
Your home is here, I think?
