Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/211



We're men, not school-girls, you and I. My youngsters wait for me. Good-morning.

[Goes.   Just now I'd visions like a fool: Now I'm again collected, cool, And close as clasps! To work I'll press! Here's no more scope for hand or tool, And Satan's couch is idleness. [Goes out at the other side.  ''The organ, which during what precedes has been heard in an undertone, suddenly peals forth, and ends with a discordant shriek. Shortly afterwards comes out.''

No, I vainly, vainly seek To unlock the heart of sound; All the song becomes a shriek. Walls and arches, vault and ground, Seem to stoop and crowd and throng, Seem to clasp with iron force, Seem to close around the song, As the coffin round the corse! Vain my effort, vain my suit, All the organ's music's mute, Fain a prayer I would have spoken, But my lifted voice fell broken,— Like the muffled moan it fell Of a riven and rusted bell. 'Twas as if the Lord were seated In the chancel, and beheld, And in wrath, while I entreated,