Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/65



[Shuddering.]

His child!

At once he knew The horror of his deed of blood! His grief ran brimming like a flood; He struck himself the death-wound too. Come, save him, save him from perdition, Spite of wild water and wild sky! He cannot live, and dare not die! There lies he, clasping the dead frame, And shrieking on the Devil's name!

[Quietly.]

Yes, here is need.

[Pale.]

Great God on high

He doesn't live in my Division.

[Curtly, to the Peasants.]

Unmoor a boat and row me there!

When such a storm is up? Who dare?

A path goes round the fjord