Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/249



Wait; my old father is dead beaten.

Since yesterday I've nothing eaten

Ay, still our hunger, slake our thirst!

On, on, across the mountain first!

Which way?

All ways alike are right That reach the goal. This way pursue

Nay, it is steep, and 'twill be night Ere we are well upon the height.

And that way lies the Ice-church too.

The steep way is the short way still.

My foot is sore!

My child is ill!

Where shall I get a drop to drink?