THYRI.
 The gray land breaks to lively green,
 Bespangled all with flowers;
 The throstles sing to greet the spring
 Through lengthening sunlit hours.

 But what care I for flowers on sward,
 Or bursting buds on tree?
 My lands restor'd from Wendland's lord
 Were better cheer to me.

 A landless, dowerless bride am I,
 The bride of Norroway's King,
 What boots me, while I sit and sigh,
 The coming of the spring?

OLAF.
 Thyri, my beloved,
 Hither come I bearing
 Angelicas uprooted,
 Sweet and fair as thou.
 Earliest boon of springtime,
 Sign of snow departing,
 In their welcome fragrance,
 Bathe thy snowy brow.

THYRI.
 Sweet are thy words, but O! meseems,
 A sweeter gift would be,
 The boon that haunts Queen Thyri's dreams,
 Her dowry over sea.
 Wide spread they from the Wendland shore,
 And rich with fruit and flower,
 The lands I weep for evermore,
 O! give me back my dower.

OLAF.
 Fear not, doubt not, weep not,
 As a Queen triumphant,
 Towards the happy sunlight
 Lift thy radiant eyes;
 To the strife of favours,
 For thy love I gird me,
 And the lands of Thyri
 Shall I win for prize.

BOTH.
 Comes the spring unchaining,
 Sunshine on his pinions,
 All the world imprisoned
 In the Ice-King's hall;
 So the golden promise
 Passed from lord to lady,
 Warm with words of loving,
 Lifts the heart from thrall.