The black clouds that overcome me;
What a night, what days have been
These two—and the night between!
Brand.
I am with thee, child, once more.
[He lights a single candle, which throws a pale
radiance over the room.]
Thou art pale.
Agnes.
And worn and sad.
I have watch'd and long'd so sore;
And this little leafy bough—
Little, it was all I had,
Saved from summer until now
To bedeck our Christmas-tree,—
I have hung it there, Brand, see!
<g>His</g> the bush was, so we said;
Ah, <g>'twas</g> his—it crown'd him dead!
[Bursts into tears.]
Look, from the snow it peers
Yonder, his—O God
Brand.
His grave.
Agnes.
O that word!
Brand.
Have done with tears.
Agnes.
Yes—be patient—I'll be brave!
But my soul is bleeding still,
And the wound is raw and new—
