Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/156



Oh, mercy, how hollow it's rumbling

We're just driving over a fiord.

I'm afraid! What is that I hear rushing And sighing so strange and wild?

It's the sough of the pine-trees, mother, On the heath. Do you but sit still.

There's a sparkling and gleaming afar now; Whence comes all that blaze of light.

From the castle's windows and doorways. Don't you hear, they are dancing?

Yes.

Outside the door stands St. Peter, And prays you to enter in.

Does he greet us?

He does, with honour, And pours out the sweetest wine.

Wine! Has he cakes as well, Peer?