ang loud, rang low.
The spell-bound maid in the tarn so deep,
His strains awoke from her heavy sleep,
The neckan must grant her release from his rule,
She rose through the lilies afloat on the pool--
Then looked she to heaven while on green earth she trod,
And wakened once more to her faith and her God.
GUDMUND.
Signe, my fairest of flowers!
SIGNE.
It seems
That I, too, have lived in a world of dreams.
But the strange deep words you to-night have spoken,
Of the power of love, have my slumber broken.
The heavens seemed never so blue to me,
Never the world so fair;
I can understand, as I roam with thee,
The song of the birds in air.
GUDMUND.
So mighty is love--it stirs in the breast
Thought and longings and happy unrest.
But come, let us both to your sister go.
SIGNE.
Would you tell her--?
GUDMUND.
Everything she must know.
SIGNE.
Then go you alone;--I feel that my cheek
Would be hot with blushes to hear you speak.
GUDMUND.
So be it, I go.
SIGNE.
And here will I bide;
[Listening towards the right.
Or better--down by the riverside,
I hear Knut Gesling, with maidens and men.
GUDMUND.
There will you stay?
SIGNE.
Till you come again
[She goes out to the right. GUDMUND goes into the house.
[MARGIT enters from behind the house on the left.
MARGIT.
In the hall there is gladness and revelry;
The dancers foot it with jest and glee.
The air weighed hot on my brow and breast;
For Gudmund, he was not there.
[She draws a deep breath.
Out here 'tis better: here's quiet and rest.
How sweet is the cool night air!
[A brooding silence.
The horrible thought! Oh, why should it be
That wherever I go it follows me?
The phial--doth a secret contain;
A drop of this in my--enemy's cup,
And his life would sicken and wither up;
The leech's skill would be tried in vain.
[Again a silence.
Were I sure that Gudmund--held me dear--
Then little I'd care for--
[GUDMUND enters from the house.
GUDMUND.
You, Margit, here?
And alone? I have sought you everywhere.
MARGIT.
'Tis cool here. I sickened of heat and glare.
See you how yonder the white mists glide
Softly over the marshes wide?
Here it is neither dark nor light,
But midway between them--
[To herself.
--as
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