Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/254



How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing This song in my father's hall. There was somewhat in it—some strange, sad thing That took my heart in thrall; Though I scarce understood, I could ne'er forget— And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet.

Rings of red gold! And a belt beside—! 'Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride!

Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King's wife! And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life.

[Calling.] Margit, Margit,—he is coming!

[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?

Gudmund, our kinsman!