Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/209

"Down with it! Down with it!" they cried
At first; but soon that clamour died,
And many felt their ears a-flame,
And stole shy glances of distrust.
When the ancestral House of Prayer
Was to be levell'd—then and there,—
By hands unhallow'd, in the dust.

The Schoolmaster.

But countless bonds, they fancied, knit
Them ever to the ghost of it,
So long as yonder Palace lack'd
The final seal of consecration;
And so in anguish'd expectation
They watch'd it growing into fact,
And blinked before the glorious End,
When the old tatter should descend
And the new colours flaunt the gale.
But ever as the spire upclomb
They grew more silent and more pale,
And now,—well, now the End is come.

The Sexton.

Look at the throng. Both young and old
Swarm hither.

The Schoolmaster.

              And by thousands told.—
How still they are!

The Sexton.

                    And yet they moan,
Like sea fore-feeling tempest's fret.

The Schoolmaster.

It is the People's hearts that groan,