Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/256

 The priest at the altar was bending; He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul, The folk to God's word were attending. Then a voice rang out o'er the fiord so blue; And the carven angels, the whole church through, Turned round, methought, to listen thereto.

O Signë, say on! Tell me all, tell me all!

'Twas as though a strange, irresistible call Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock, Over hill and dale, over mead and rock. 'Mid the silver birches I listening trod, Moving as though in a dream; Behind me stood empty the house of God; Priest and people were lured by the magic, 'twould seem, Of the tones that still through the air did stream. No sound they made; they were quiet as death; To hearken the song-birds held their breath, The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still, As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill.

Go on.

They crossed themselves, women and men;

But strange thoughts arose within me then: