Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/452

Svanhild.

              If you make war on lies, I stand
A trusty armour-bearer by your side.

Falk.

You, Svanhild, you who—

Svanhild.

                            I, who—yesterday—?
Were you yourself, Falk, yesterday the same?
You bade me be a sallow, for your play.

Falk.

And a sweet sallow sang me into shame.
No, you are right: I was a child to ask;
But you have fired me to a nobler task.
Eight in the midst of men the Church is founded
Where Truth's appealing clarion must be sounded
We are not called, like demigods, to gaze on
The battle from the far-off mountain's crest,
But in our hearts to bear our fiery blazon,
An Olaf's cross upon a mailed breast,—
To look afar across the fields of flight,
Tho' pent within the mazes of its might,—
Beyond the mirk descry one glimmer still
Of glory—that's the Call we must fulfil.

Svanhild.

And you'll fulfil it when you break from men,
Stand free, alone,—