[based on the poem "Tragediens Trone" by John Henrik Svaren]   [is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg]      Hear!   From this day forth   are the heights of Horeb broken   and the sea of sulphur-ice.      And blasphemy!   in heaven's chambers:   Souls had fled their halls   and closed was the book of life.   And behold!   The great, white throne:   black   with sacred blood      Our father -   Dead by his own hands:   an epitaph   worthy no king.      And so is everything   a nameless lie.   Who, my god,   am I?      Man knows me   as Lucifer, the serpent of old.   The wretched hold my banner high.   Your gift   - all life! -   I grant a grave   Yet I am not your death.      Come carry forth the crown   to your once held throne.   Here is where my suffering should cease   - but alas; I am crowned   in grief unheard of!      In this lone monarchy   - without a friend of foe -   I greet the mourning sun   with strife and a song:   Please speak my name!   And leave me not   in the dust of death.      I am weighed down   beneath the tragedy crown, -   nameless,   and alone,   a fatherless son.      [JHS 1996]