Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/307

 Struck the earth like to flaming steel! From the earth to his dwelling Now the heirs' song ascendeth In the tongue of the kingdom of God.

[Crouches as in terror.]  Never look there! there all's desert and waste.— I fear I was dead long before I died. [Tries to slink in among the bushes, but comes upon the cross-roads.

Good morning, Peer Gynt! Where's the list of your sins?

Do you think that I haven't been whistling and shouting As hard as I could?

And met no one at all?

Not a soul but a tramping photographer.

Well, the respite is over.

Ay, everything's over. The owl smells the daylight. Just list to the hooting!

It's the matin-bell ringing