Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/140

Swarm the demons and the Drows,
Black and ugly, big and little—
Ugh, how fierce they cut and cuff—!
Half my eye away they whittle;
Half my soul they've carried off;
With the stump I'll e'en make shift,
It will serve me well enough!

Brand.

Girl, your thoughts are all adrift;
See, I stand before you.

Gerd.

                         You?
Ay, but not the parson? Swift
From the peak my falcon flew,
Fiercely down the fells he hied him,
He was bitted and saddled too,
Through the nightfall blast he hiss'd,
And a man was set astride him,—
'Twas the parson, 'twas the priest!
Now the valley church is bare,
Lock and bar are bolted there;
Ugly-church's day is past;
<g>Mine</g> shall get its due at last.
There the priest stands, tall and strong
Snowy surplice swathes his flank,
Woven of winter's drip and dank,
If you'd see him, come along;
Parish-church is bare and blank;
<g>My</g> priest has so brave a song,
That the whole earth rings to hear it.

Brand.

Who has bidden thee, shattered spirit,
Lure me with this idol-lay?