Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/139

 And bid you: Leave us, if you can! I have a soul I would not lose, Like others; books I cannot use, You bore me from the depths below,— Try if you now can let me go! You cannot,—I so closely grip, My soul were lost if I should slip. Farewell; I look to learn at last: My priest by me—and God—stands fast.

[Goes.

[Timidly.]

Your lips are blanch'd, and white your cheek; You seem to utter an inward shriek!

Each strong word flung at yonder rock Thrills back with tenfold echo's shock.

[Advancing a step.]

I'm ready!

Ready? Whereunto?

[Vehemently.]

For what a mother needs must do!

[''Runs by outside and stops at the garden-gate; claps her hands and cries in wild joy.'']

Have you heard? The priest's flown off.— Up from hillocks, out of howes,