Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/282

 To be God's pure tablet-stone;— From to-day my life shall stream Lambent, glowing, as a dream. The ice-fetters break away, I can weep,—and kneel,—and pray!

[Sinks upon his knees.    [Looks askance upwards, and then, softly and timidly.]   There he sits, the ugly sprite! 'Tis his shadow sweeps the land, Where he flogs the mountain height With his flapping vans in flight. Now Redemption is at hand If the silver will but bite! [''Puts the rifle to her cheek and shoots. A hollow roar, as of distant thunder, is heard far up the precipice.''

[Starting up.]

Ha, what dost thou?

Down he slides! I have hit him;—down he swings,— Shrieking, till the echo rings; Plumes in thousand from his sides Flutter down the beetling brae;— See how large he looms, how white—! Ha, he's rolling down this way!

[Sinking down.]

Blood of children must be spilt To atone the parent's guilt!