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Brand.
[Shakes his head.]
Till she of her offence repent
I have no comfort to bestow.
Agnes.
She is your mother.
Brand.
It were sin
To worship idols in my kin.
Agnes.
Brand, you are stern!
Brand.
To you?
Agnes.
Oh no
Brand.
I warn'd you that the way was steep.
Agnes.
[Smiling.]
It was not true; you did not keep
Your word.
Brand.
Yes, here the ice-wind rives;
Your cheek has lost its youthful glow,
Your tender heart is touch'd with snow.
Our home is built where nothing thrives,
Amid a barren waste of stone.
Agnes.
It lies the safer, then! So prone
Beetles yon jutting mountain-wall,
