That was partly what drove me in fear from the dale.
But here, with the fir-branches soughing o'erhead,—
What a stillness and song!—I am here in my home.
Peer.
And know you that surely? For all your days?
Solveig.
The path I have trodden leads back nevermore.
Peer.
You are mine then! In! In the room let me see you!
Go in! I must go to fetch fir-roots[1] for fuel.
Warm shall the fire be and bright shall it shine,
You shall sit softly and never be a-cold.
[He opens the door; Solveig goes in. He stands still for a while, then laughs aloud with joy and leaps into the air.
Peer.
My king's daughter! Now I have found her and won her!
Hei! Now the palace shall rise, deeply founded!
He seizes his axe and moves away; at the same moment an Old-looking Woman, in a tattered green gown, comes out from the wood; an Ugly Brat, with an ale-flagon in his hand, limps after, holding on to her skirt.
The Woman.
Good evening, Peer Lightfoot!
- ↑ See note, p. 92.
