The Feast at Solhoug | Page 8

Silently into the church I stole; The priest at the altar was bending; He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul, The folk to God's word were attending. Then a voice rang out o'er the fiord so blue; And the carven angels, the whole church through, Turned round, methought, to listen thereto.
MARGIT.
O Signe, say on! Tell me all, tell me all!
SIGNE.
'Twas as though a strange, irresistible call Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock, Over hill and dale, over mead and rock. 'Mid the silver birches I listening trod, Moving as though in a dream; Behind me stood empty the house of God; Priest and people were lured by the magic 'twould seem, Of the tones that still through the air did stream. No sound they made; they were quiet as death; To hearken the song-birds held their breath, The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still, As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill.
MARGIT.
Go on.
SIGNE.
They crossed themselves, women and men; [Pressing her hands to her breast.
But strange thoughts arose within me then; For the heavenly song familiar grew: Gudmund oft sang it to me and you-- Ofttimes has Gudmund carolled it, And all he e'er sang in my heart is writ.
MARGIT.
And you think that it may be--?
SIGNE.
I know it is he! I know it? I know it! You soon shall see! [Laughing.
From far-off lands, at the last, in the end, Each song-bird homeward his flight doth bend! I am so happy--though why I scarce know--! Margit, what say you? I'll quickly go And take down his harp, that has hung so long In there on the wall that 'tis rusted quite; Its golden strings I will polish bright, And tune them to ring and to sing with his song.
MARGIT. [Absently.]
Do as you will--
SIGNE. [Reproachfully.]
Nay, this in not right. [Embracing her.
But when Gudmund comes will your heart grow light-- Light, as when I was a child, again.
MARGIT.
So much has changed--ah, so much!--since then--
SIGNE.
Margit, you shall be happy and gay! Have you not serving-maids many, and thralls? Costly robes hang in rows on your chamber walls; How rich you are, none can say. By day you can ride in the forest deep, Chasing the hart and the hind; By night in a lordly bower you can sleep, On pillows of silk reclined.
MARGIT. [Looking toward the window.]
And he comes to Solhoug! He, as a guest!
SIGNE.
What say you?
MARGIT. [Turning.]
Naught.--Deck you out in your best. That fortune which seemeth to you so bright May await yourself.
SIGNE.
Margit, say what you mean!
MARGIT. [Stroking her hair.]
I mean--nay, no more! 'Twill shortly be seen--; I mean--should a wooer ride hither to-night--?
SIGNE.
A wooer? For whom?
MARGIT.
For you.
SIGNE. [Laughing.]
For me? That he'd ta'en the wrong road full soon he would see.
MARGIT.
What would you say if a valiant knight Begged for your hand?
SIGNE.
That my heart was too light To think upon suitors or choose a mate.
MARGIT.
But if he were mighty, and rich, and great?
SIGNE.
O, were he a king, did his palace hold Stores of rich garments and ruddy gold, 'Twould ne'er set my heart desiring. With you I am rich enough here, meseeems, With summer and sun and the murmuring streams, And the birds in the branches quiring. Dear sister mine--here shall my dwelling be; And to give any wooer my hand in fee, For that I am too busy, and my heart too full of glee!
[SIGNE runs out to the left, singing.
MARGIT.
[After a pause.] Gudmund Alfson coming hither! Hither--to Solhoug? No, no, it cannot be.--Signe heard him singing, she said! When I have heard the pine-trees moaning in the forest afar, when I have heard the waterfall thunder and the birds pipe their lure in the tree-tops, it has many a time seemed to me as though, through it all, the sound of Gudmund's songs came blended. And yet he was far from here.--Signe has deceived herself. Gudmund cannot be coming.
[BENGT enters hastily from the back.
BENGT.
[Entering, calls loudly.] An unlooked-for guest my wife!
MARGIT.
What guest?
BENGT.
Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson! [Calls through the doorway on the right.] Let the best guest-room be prepared--and that forthwith!
MARGIT.
Is he, then, already here?
BENGT.
[Looking out through the passage-way.] Nay, not yet; but he cannot be far off. [Calls again to the right.] The carved oak bed, with the dragon-heads! [Advances to MARGIT.] His shield- bearer brings a message of greeting from him; and he himself is close behind.
MARGIT.
His shield-bearer! Comes he hither with a shield-bearer!
BENGT.
Aye, by my faith he does. He has a shield-bearer and six armed men in his train. What would you? Gudmund Alfson is a far other man than he was when he set forth to seek his fortune. But I must ride forth to seek him. [Calls out.] The gilded saddle on my horse! And forget not the bridle with the serpents' heads! [Looks out to the back.] Ha, there he is already