The Feast at Solhoug | Page 7

back. [BENGT accompanies them to the door. The sound of the bells has in the meantime ceased.
BENGT.
[Returning.] Methought he seemed to threaten us as he departed.
MARGIT.
[Absently.] Aye, so it seemed.
BENGT.
Knut Gesling is an ill man to fall out with. And when I bethink me, we gave him over many hard words. But come, let us not brood over that. To-day we must be merry, Margit!--as I trow we have both good reason to be.
MARGIT.
[With a weary smile.] Aye, surely, surely.
BENGT.
Tis true I was no mere stripling when I courted you. But well I wot I was the richest man for many and many a mile. You were a fair maiden, and nobly born; but your dowry would have tempted no wooer.
MARGIT.
[To herself.] Yet was I then so rich.
BENGT.
What said you, my wife?
MARGIT.
Oh, nothing, nothing. [Crosses to the right.] I will deck me with pearls and rings. Is not to-night a time of rejoicing for me?
BENGT.
I am fain to hear you say it. Let me see that you deck you in your best attire, that our guests may say: Happy she who mated with Bengt Gauteson.--But now must I to the larder; there are many things to-day that must not be over-looked.
[He goes out to the left.
MARGIT. [Sinks down on a chair by the table on the right.]
'Twas well he departed. While here he remains Meseems the blood freezes within my veins; Meseems that a crushing mighty and cold My heart in its clutches doth still enfold. [With tears she cannot repress.
He is my husband! I am his wife! How long, how long lasts a woman's life? Sixty years, mayhap--God pity me Who am not yet full twenty-three! [More calmly after a short silence.
Hard, so long in a gilded cage to pine; Hard a hopeless prisoner's lot--and mine. [Absently fingering the ornaments on the table, and beginning to put them on.
With rings, and with jewels, and all of my best By his order myself I am decking-- But oh, if to-day were my burial-feast, 'Twere little that I'd be recking. [Breaking off.
But if thus I brood I must needs despair; I know a song that can lighten care. [She sings.
The Hill-King to the sea did ride; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- To woo a maiden to be his bride. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
The Hill-King rode to Sir Hakon's hold; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- Little Kirsten sat combing her locks of gold. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
The Hill-King wedded the maiden fair; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- A silvern girdle she ever must wear. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
The Hill-King wedded the lily-wand, --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- With fifteen gold rings on either hand. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
Three summers passed, and there passed full five; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- In the hill little Kirsten was buried alive. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
Five summers passed, and there passed full nine; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- Little Kirsten ne'er saw the glad sunshine. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
In the dale there are flowers and the birds' blithe song; --Oh, sad are my days and dreary-- In the hill there is gold and the night is long. --I am waiting for thee, I am weary.-- [She rises and crosses the room.
How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing This song in may father's hall. There was somewhat in it--some strange, sad thing That took my heart in thrall; Though I scarce understood, I could ne'er forget-- And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet. [Stops horror-struck.
Rings of red gold! And a belt beside--! 'Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride! [In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table on the left.
Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King's wife! And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life.
[SIGNE, radiant with gladness, comes running in from the back.
SIGNE.
[Calling.] Margit, Margit,--he is coming!
MARGIT.
[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?
SIGNE.
Gudmund, our kinsman!
MARGIT.
Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think--?
SIGNE.
Oh, I am sure of it.
MARGIT.
[Crosses to the right.] Gudmund Alfson is at the wedding-feast in the King's hall; you know that as well as I.
SIGNE.
Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he.
MARGIT.
Have you seen him?
SIGNE.
Oh, no, no; but I must tell you--
MARGIT.
Yes, haste you--tell on!
SIGNE.
'Twas early morn, and the church bells rang, To Mass I was fain to ride; The birds in the willows twittered and sang, In the birch-groves far and wide. All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day; And from church it had well-nigh stayed me; For still, as I rode down the shady way, Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me.