Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/27



Yes, men of olden time, maybe; But nowadays he'd just be drowned.

[Going.]

Farewell!

You throw your life away!

If God should haply need its loss, Then welcome chasm, and flood, and foss.

[To himself.]

Nay, but his wits are gone astray!

[Half-crying.]

Come away, Father! see how black With coming tempest is the wrack!

[Stopping and approaching again]

Hear, peasant; you at first profess'd, Your daughter by the fjordside lying, Had sent you word that she was dying, But could not with a gladsome breast, Until she saw you, go to rest?

That's certain, as I hope for bliss!

And as her last day mentioned—this?