And bid you: Leave us, if you can!
I have a soul I would not lose,
Like others; books I cannot use,
You bore me from the depths below,—
Try if you now can let me go!
You cannot,—I so closely grip,
My soul were lost if I should slip.
Farewell; I look to learn at last:
My priest by me—and God—stands fast.
[Goes.
Agnes.
[Timidly.]
Your lips are blanch'd, and white your cheek;
You seem to utter an inward shriek!
Brand.
Each strong word flung at yonder rock
Thrills back with tenfold echo's shock.
Agnes.
[Advancing a step.]
I'm ready!
Brand.
Ready? Whereunto?
Agnes.
[Vehemently.]
For what a mother needs must do!
Gerd.
[Runs by outside and stops at the garden-gate;
claps her hands and cries in wild joy.]
Have you heard? The priest's flown off.—
Up from hillocks, out of howes,
