Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/457

 [approaching who comes to meet him].

One moment's ours, my Svanhild, in the light Of God and of the lustrous summer night. How the stars glitter thro' the leafage, see, Like bright fruit hanging on the great world-tree. Now slavery's last manacle I slip, Now for the last time feel the wealing whip; Like Israel at the Passover I stand, Loins girded for the desert, staff in hand. Dull generation, from whose sight is hid The Promised Land beyond that desert flight, Thrall tricked with knighthood, never the more knight, Tomb thyself kinglike in the Pyramid,— I cross the barren desert to be free. My ship strides on despite an ebbing sea; But there the Legion Lie shall find its doom, And glut one deep, dark, hollow-vaulted tomb.

[A short pause; he looks at her and takes her hand.

You are so still!

So happy! Suffer me, O suffer me in silence still to dream. Speak you for me; my budding thoughts, grown strong, One after one will burgeon into song, Like lilies in the bosom of the stream.