To bail the leakage, shift the sail;
Come, one of you that lately gave;
Give now to death and to the grave.
SEVERAL.
[_Shrinking back._]
Never ask such-like of us!
ONE.
[_Menacingly._]
Land!
’Tis overbold to tempt God’s hand!
SEVERAL VOICES.
See, the storm thickens!
OTHERS.
The ropes break!
BRAND.
[_Holding himself fast with the boat-hook, and calling to
the strange WOMAN._]
Good; come then you; but speedily!
THE WOMAN.
[_Shrinking back._]
I! Where no others——!
BRAND.
Let them be!
THE WOMAN.
I cannot!
BRAND.
Cannot?
THE WOMAN.
My babes’ sake——!
BRAND.
[_Scornfully laughing._]
You build upon a quaking sand!
AGNES.
[_Turns with glowing cheeks to EINAR, lays her hand on his
arm, and says_:]
Did you hear _all_?
EINAR.
A valiant heart.
AGNES.
Thank God, Einar, you see your part.
[_Calls to BRAND._]
See,—here is one man, brave and true,
To go the saving way with you!
BRAND.
Come on then!
EINAR.
[_Pale._]
I!
AGNES.
I give you! Go!
Mine eyes are lifted, that were low!
EINAR.
Ere I found you, with willing feet
I would have follow’d where he led——
AGNES.
[_Trembling._]
But now——!
EINAR.
My life is new and sweet;—
I _cannot_ go!
AGNES.
[_Starting back._]
What have you said!
EINAR.
I _dare_ not go!
AGNES.
[_With a cry._]
Now roars a sea
Of sweeping flood and surging foam
World-wide, world-deep, ’twixt you and me!
[_To BRAND._]
_I_ will go with you!
BRAND.
Good; then come!
EINAR.
[_Clutching desperately after her._]
Agnes!
THE WHOLE THRONG.
[_Hurrying towards her._]
Come back! Come back!
WOMEN.
[_In terror as she springs into the boat._]
Help, Lord!
BRAND.
Where does the house lie!
WOMEN.
[_Pointing._]
By the fjord,
Behind yon black and jutting brink!
[_The boats put out._
EINAR.
[_Calling after them._]
Your home, your mother, Agnes! Think!
O save yourself!
AGNES.
We are _three_ on board!
[_The boat sails. The people crowd together on the
slopes, and watch in eager suspense._
A MAN.
He clears the headland!
ANOTHER.
Nay!
THE FIRST.
Yes, see,—
Astern he has it, and in lee!
ANOTHER.
A squall! It’s caught them!
THE MAYOR.
Look at that,—
The wind has swept away his hat!
A WOMAN.
Black as a rook’s wing, his wet hair
Streams backward on the angry air.
FIRST MAN.
All seethes and surges!
EINAR.
What a yell!
Rang through the storm!
A WOMAN.
’Twas from the fell.
ANOTHER.
[_Pointing up._]
See, there stands Gerd upon the cliff,
Hallooing at the passing skiff!
FIRST WOMAN.
She’s flinging pebbles like witch-corn,
And blowing through a twisted horn.
SECOND WOMAN.
Now she has slung it like a wand,
And pipes upon her hollow’d hand.
A MAN.
Ay, pipe away, thou troll abhorr’d!
He has a Guide and Guard on board!
ANOTHER.
In a worse storm, with him to steer,
I’d put to sea and never fear.
FIRST MAN.
[_To EINAR._]
What is he?
EINAR.
A priest.
SECOND MAN.
What is he, nay—
That’s plain: he is a _man_, I say!
Strong will is in him, and bold deed.
FIRST MAN.
That were the very priest we need!
MANY VOICES.
Ay, ay, the very priest we need!
[_They disperse along the slopes._
THE MAYOR.
[_Collecting his books and papers._]
Well, ’tis opposed to all routine
To labour in a strange vocation,
Intrusively to risk one’s skin
Without an adequate occasion.—
_I_ do my duty with precision,—
But always in my own Division.
[_Goes._
--------------
[_Outside the hut on the Ness. Late afternoon. The fjord is
smooth and gleaming. AGNES is sitting_ _by the beach.
Presently BRAND comes out of the hut._]
BRAND.
_That_ was death. The horror-rifted
Bosom at its touch grew whole.
Now he looks a calm great soul,
All illumined and up-lifted.
Has a false illusion might
Out of gloom to win such light?
Of his devil’s-deed he saw
Nothing but the outward flaw,—
That of it which tongue can tell
And to hands is palpable,—
That for which his name’s reviled,—
The brute slaying of his child.
But those two, that sat and gazed
With great frighten’d eyes, amazed,
Speechless, like two closely couching
Birdlets, in the ingle crouching,—
Who but look’d, and look’d, and ever
Look’d, unwitting upon what,—
In whose souls a poison-spot
Bit and sank, which they shall never
Even as old men bent and gray,
In Time’s turmoil wear away,—
They, whose tide of life proceeds
From this fountain of affright,
Who by dark and dreadful deeds
Must be nurtured into light,
Nor by any purging flames
May that carrion thought consume,—
This he saw not, being blind,
That the direst of the doom
Was the doom he left behind.
And from them shall haply rise
Link’d offences one by one.
Wherefore? The abyss replies:
From the father sprang the son!
What shall be by Love erased?
What be quietly effaced?
Where, O where, does guilt begin
In our heritage of sin?
What Assizes, what Assessors,
When that Judgment is declared?
Who shall question, who be heard,
Where we’re all alike transgressors?
Who will venture then to plead
His foul-borrow’d title-deed?
Will the old answer profit yet:
“From my father dates my debt?”
O, abysmal as the night,
Riddle, who can read thee right!
But the people dance light-footed,
Heedless by the dizzy brink;
Where the soul should cry and shrink,
None has vision to perceive
What uptowering guilt is rooted
In that little word: _We live._
[_Some men of the community come from behind the house and
approach BRAND._]
A MAN.
We were to meet again, you see.
BRAND.
His need of human help has ceased.
THE MAN.
Yes; he is ransom’d and released;
But in the chamber still sit three.
BRAND.
And what then?
THE MAN.
Of the scraps we got
Together, a few crumbs we’ve brought——
BRAND.
Though you give all, and life retain,
I tell you that your gift is vain.
THE MAN.
Had he to-day, who now lies dead,
By mortal peril been bested,
And I had heard his foundering cry,
I also would have dared to die.
BRAND.
But peril of the _Soul_ you slight?
THE MAN.
Well, we’re but drudgers day by day.
BRAND.
Then from the downward-streaming light
Turn your eyes utterly away;
And cease to cast the left askance
At heaven, while with the right you glance
Down at the mould where, crouching low,
Self-harness’d in the yoke you go.
THE MAN.
I thought you’d say we ought to shake us
Free of the yoke we toil in?
BRAND.
Yea,
If you are able.
THE MAN.
You can make us!
BRAND.
Can I?
THE MAN.
Full many have been sent
Who told us truly of the way;
The path they pointed to, you _went_.
BRAND.
You mean——?
THE MAN.
A thousand speeches Brand
Less deeply than one dint of deed.
Here in our fellows’ name we stand;—
We see, a _man_ is what we need.
BRAND.
[_Uneasily._]
What will you with me?
THE MAN.
Be our priest.
BRAND.
I? Here!
THE MAN.
You’ve maybe heard it told,
There is no pastor for this fold.
BRAND.
Yes; I recall.
THE MAN.
The place of old
Was large, which now is of the least.
When evil seasons froze the field,
And blight on herdsman fell,
When want struck down the Man, and seal’d
The Spirit with its drowsing spell,
When there was dearth of beef and brew,—
_Then_ came a dearth of parsons too.
BRAND.
Aught else: but this ye must not ask!
I’m summoned to a greater task.
The great world’s open ear I seek;
Through Life’s vast organ I must speak.
What should I here? By mountains pent
The voice of man falls impotent.
THE MAN.
By mountains echoed, longer heard
Is each reverberating word.
BRAND.
Who in a cavern would be bound,
When broad meads beckon all around?
Who’ll sweat to plough the barren land
When there are fruitful fields at hand?
Who’ll rear his fruitage from the seed
When orchards ripen to the skies?
Who’ll struggle on with daily need
When vision gives him wings and eyes?
THE MAN.
[_Shaking his head._]
Your deed I fathom’d,—not your word.
BRAND.
[_Going._]
Question no more! On board! on board!
THE MAN.
[_Barring his way._]
This calling that you must fulfil,
This work, whereon you’ve set your will,
Is it so precious to you, say?
BRAND.
It is my very life!
THE MAN.
Then stay!
[_Pointedly._]
“Though you give all and life retain,
Remember, that your gift is vain.”
BRAND.
One thing is yours you may not spend?
Your very inmost Self of all.
You may not bind it, may not bend,
Nor stem the river of your call.
To make for ocean is its end.
THE MAN.
Though tarn and moorland held it fast,—
As dew ’twould reach the sea at last.
BRAND.
[_Looking fixedly at him._]
Who gave you power to answer thus?
THE MAN.
You, by your deed, you gave it us.
When wind and water raged and roar’d,
And you launch’d out through wind and wave,
When, a poor sinning soul to save,
You set your life upon a board,
Deep into many a heart it fell,
Like wind and sunshine, cold and hot,
Rang through them like a chiming bell,—
[_With lowered voice._]
To-morrow, haply, all’s forgot,
And furl’d the kindling banner bright
You just now lifted in our sight.
BRAND.
Duty is not, where power is not.
[_Sternly._]
If you cannot be what you ought,
Be in good earnest what you may;
Be heart and soul a man of clay.
THE MAN.
[_After gazing on him a moment._]
Woe! you, who quench the lamp you lit;
And us, who had a glimpse of it!
[_He goes; the others silently follow._
BRAND.
[_After long watching them._]
Homewards, one by one, with flagging
Spirits, heavily and slow,
Foreheads bowed, and weary lagging
Footsteps, silently they go.
Each with sorrow in his eyes,
Walks as from a lifted rod,
Walks like Adam spurn’d by God
From the gates of Paradise,—
Walks like him, with sin-veil’d sight,—
Sees, like him, the gathering night,
All his gain of knowledge shares,
All his loss of blindness bears.
I have boldly dared to plan
The refashioning of Man,—
—_There’s_ my work,—Sin’s image grown,
Whom God moulded in His own.—
Forth! to wider fields away!
Here’s no room for battle-play!
[_Going; but pauses as he sees AGNES by the beach._]
See, she listens by the shore,
As to airy songs afloat.
So she listen’d in the boat
As the stormy surge it tore,—
Listening, to the thwart she clung,—
Listening still, the sea-foam hoar
From her open forehead flung.
’Tis as though her ear were changing
Function, and her eye were listening.
[_He approaches._]
Maiden, is it o’er those glistening
Reaches that your eye is ranging?
AGNES.
[_Without turning round._]
Neither those nor aught of earth;
Nothing of them I descry.
But a greater earth there gleams
Sharply outlined on the sky,
Foaming floods and spreading streams,
Mists and sunshine breaking forth.
Scarlet-shafted flames are playing
Over cloud-capp’d mountain heads,
And an endless desert spreads,
Whereupon great palms are swaying
In the bitter-breathing blast.
Swart the shadows that they cast.
Nowhere any living thing;
Like a new world at its birth;
And I hear strange accents ring,
And a Voice interpreting:
“Choose thy endless loss or gain,
Do thy work and bear thy pain;—
Thou shalt people this new earth!”
BRAND.
[_Carried away._]
Say, what further!
AGNES.
[_Laying her hand on her breast._]
In my soul
I can feel new powers awaking,
I can see a dayspring breaking,
I can feel full floods that roll,
And my heart grows larger, freer,
Clasps the world within its girth,
And a voice interprets: Here
Shalt thou people a new earth!
All the thoughts that men shall utter,
All the deeds men shall achieve,
Waken, whisper, quiver, mutter,
As if now they were to live;
And I rather feel than see
Him who sits enthroned above,
Feel that He looks down on me
Full of sadness and of love,
Tender-bright as morning’s breath,
And yet sorrowing unto death:
And I hear strange accents wake:
“Now thou must be made, and make;
Choose thy endless loss or gain!—
Do thy work and bear thy pain!”
BRAND.
Inwards! In! O word of might,
Now I see my way aright.
In _ourselves_ is that young Earth,
Ripe for the divine new-birth;
Will, the fiend, must there be slain,
Adam _there_ be born again.
Let the world then take its way,
Brutal toil or giddy play;
But if e’er we meet in fight,
If my work it seek to blight,
Then, by heaven, I’ll smite and slay!
Room within the wide world’s span,
Self completely to fulfil,—
That’s a valid right of Man,
And no more than that I will!
[_After pondering awhile in silence._]
To fulfil oneself! And yet,
With a heritage of debt?
[_Pauses and looks out._]
Who is she, that, stooping deep,
Chambers hither up the steep,—
Crooked back and craning crop?
Now for breath she has to stop,
Clutches wildly lest she stumble,
And her skinny fingers fumble
Fierce for something that she drags
In those deep and roomy bags.
Skirt, like folds of feather’d skin,
Dangling down her shrivelled shin;
Hands, a pair of clenched hooks;
So the eagle’s carcase looks
Nail’d against the barn-door top.
[_In sudden anguish._]
What chill memories upstart,—
O what gusts from childhood dart
Frosty showers on her—and other
Fiercer frost upon my heart—?
God of grace! It is my Mother!
BRAND’S MOTHER.
[_Comes up, stops when half seen above the slope, holds her
hand up to shade her eyes, and looks round._]
He’s here, they told me.
[_Coming nearer._]
Drat the blaze,—
It nearly takes away my sight!
Son, is that you?
BRAND.
Yes.
HIS MOTHER.
[_Rubbing her eyes._]
Hoo, those rays,
They burn one’s very eyes outright;
I can’t tell priest from boor.
BRAND.
Sun’s light
At home I never saw at all
’Twixt fall of leaf and cuckoo’s call.
HIS MOTHER.
[_Laughing quietly._]
Ay, _there_ ’tis good. One’s gripped with frost
Like icicles o’er a plunging river,
Strong to _dare_ anything whatever,
—And yet believe one is not lost.
BRAND.
Farewell. My leisure time is spent.
HIS MOTHER.
Ay, thou wast ever loth to stay.
As boy thou long’dst to be away—
BRAND.
It was at your desire I went.
HIS MOTHER.
Ay, and good reason too, I say
’Twas needful thou shouldst be a priest.
[_Examines him more closely._]
H’m, he is grown up strong and tall.
But heed this word of mine, at least,—
Care for thy life, son!
BRAND.
Is that all?
HIS MOTHER.
Thy life? What’s dearer?
BRAND.
I would say:
Have you more counsels to convey?
HIS MOTHER.
For others, use them as you may,
And welcome. But thy life, O save it
For my sake; it was I that gave it.
[_Angrily_]
Your mad deed’s talked of far and near;
It scares and harrows me to hear.
On such a day to dare the fjord,
And squander what you’re bound to hoard!
You of our clan survive alone,
You are my son, my flesh and bone;
The roof-tree beam that copes and clinches
The house I’ve builded up by inches.
Stick fast; hold out; endure; survive!
Guard your life! Never let it go!
An heir is bound to keep alive,—
And you’ll be mine—one day—you know——
BRAND.
Indeed? And that was why you plann’d
With loaded purse to seek me here?
HIS MOTHER.
Son, are you raving?
[_Steps back._]
Don’t come near
Stay where you are! You’ll feel my hand!
[_More calmly._]
What were you meaning?—Just attend
I’m getting older year by year;
Sooner or later comes the end;
Then you’ll inherit all I’ve treasured,
’Tis duly counted, weighed and measured—
Nay, nay, I’ve nothing on me now!—
It’s all at home. It is but scant;
But he that gets it will not want.
Stand back there! Don’t come near!—I vow
I’ll fling no stiver of my store
Down fissures, nor in spot unknown
Hide any, nor below a stone.
In wall, or underneath a floor;
All shall be yours, son, you shall be
My sole and single legatee.
BRAND.
And the conditions?
HIS MOTHER.
One I make,
No more; don’t set your life at stake.
Keep up our family and name,
That’s all the gratitude I claim.
Then see that nothing go to waste,—
Naught be divided or displaced;—
Add much or little, as you will;
But O preserve, preserve it still!
BRAND.
[_After a short pause._]
One thing needs clearing ’twixt us two.
From childhood I have thwarted you;—
You’ve been no mother, I no son,
Till you are gray, my childhood gone.
HIS MOTHER.
I do not ask to be caress’d.
Be what you please; I am not nice.
Be stern, be fierce, be cold as ice,
It will not cleave my armour’d breast;
Keep, though you hoard it, what was mine,
And never let it leave our line!
BRAND.
[_Going a step nearer._]
And if I took it in my head
To strew it to the winds, instead?
HIS MOTHER.
[_Reeling back._]
Strew, what through all these years of care
Has bent my back and bleach’d my hair?
BRAND.
[_Nodding slowly._]
To strew it.
HIS MOTHER.
Strew it! If you do,
It is my soul that you will strew!
BRAND.
And if I do it, even so?
If I one evening vigil keep
With lighted taper by your bed,
While you with clasped Psalter sleep
The first night’s slumber of the dead,—
If I then fumble round about,
Draw treasure after treasure out,
Take up the taper, hold it low—?
HIS MOTHER.
[_Approaching excitedly._]
Whence comes this fancy?
BRAND.
Would you know?
HIS MOTHER.
Ay.
BRAND.
From a childish scene that still
Lives in my mind, and ever will,
That seams my soul with foul device
Like an infestering cicatrice.
It was an autumn evening. Dead
Was father; you lay sick in bed.
I stole where he was laid by night,
All pallid in the silver light.
I stood and watched him from my nook,
Saw how his two hands clasp’d the Book;
I marvell’d why he slept so long,
Mark’d his thin wrists, and smelt the strong
Odour of linen newly dried;—
And then I heard a step outside;—
A woman enter’d, strode apace
Up to the bed, nor saw my face.
Then she began to grope and pry;
First put the corpse’s vesture by,
Drew forth a bundle, then a store,
Counted, and whisper’d: There is more!
Then, grubbing deeper in the ground,
Clutch’d a seal’d packet tightly bound,
With trembling fingers strove and tore,
Bit it in two, groped deeper, found,
Counted, and whisper’d; There is more!
She cried, she cursed, she wail’d, she wept,
She scented where the treasure lay,
And then with eager anguish swept
Down like a falcon on her prey.
When she had ransacked all the room,
She turn’d, like one who hears her doom,
Wrapp’d up her booty in a shawl,
And faintly groan’d: So _that_ was all!
HIS MOTHER.
I needed much, I little won;
And very dearly was it bought.
BRAND.
Even more dearly than you thought;
Son’s-heart you shattered in your son.
HIS MOTHER.
Tut, tut. To barter hearts for gold
Was customary from of old.
Still dearer once I had to pay,—
I think I gave my life away.
Something I gave that now is not;—
I seem to see it flash in air
Like something foolish and yet fair;
I gave—I know not rightly what;—
“Love” was the name it used to bear.—
I know it was a bitter choice;
I know my father gave his voice:
“Forget the peasant-boy and wed
The other, ’spite his frosty pate;
A fellow with a knowing head,
He’ll fairly double the estate!”
I took him, and he brought me shame.
The doubled gettings never came.
But I have drudged with streaming brow,
And there is little lacking now.
BRAND.
And do you, as you near your grave,
Know that it was your _soul_ you gave?
HIS MOTHER.
It’s clear that I knew that, at least,
Giving my son to be a priest.
When the hour comes, a grateful heir
Of my salvation will take care;
I own the acres and the pence,
And you the deathbed eloquence.
BRAND.
With all your cunning you mistook;
You read me wrong in childhood’s book.
And many dwell by bank and brae
Who love their children in that way;—
A child’s a steward, you suppose,
Of the parental cast-off clothes;
A glimpse of the Eternal flits
At times across your wandering wits;
You snatch at it, and dream you spring
Into the essence of the thing
By grafting Riches upon Race;—
That Death with Life you can displace,
That years, if steadily amass’d,
Will yield Eternity at last.
HIS MOTHER.
Don’t rummage in your Mother’s mind,
But take what she will leave behind.
BRAND.
The debt as well?
HIS MOTHER.
The debt? What debt?
There is none.
BRAND.
Very good; but yet
Suppose there were,—I should be bound
To settle every claim I found.
The son must satisfy each call
Before the mother’s burial.
Though but four empty walls I took,
I still should own your debit-book.
HIS MOTHER.
No law commands it.
BRAND.
Not the kind
That ink on parchment ever writ;
But deep in every honest mind
Another law is burnt and bit,—
And that I execute. Thou blind!
Learn to have sight! Thou hast debased
The dwelling-place of God on earth,
The spirit He lent thee hast laid waste,
The image that thou bor’st at birth
With mould and filthiness defaced;
Thy Soul, that once had flight and song,
Thrust, clipp’d, among the common throng.
That is your debt. What will you do
When God demands His own of you?
HIS MOTHER.
[_Confused._]
What will I do? Do?——
BRAND.
Never fear;
I take your debt upon me whole.
God’s image, blotted in your soul,
In mine, Will-cleansed, shall stand clear.
Go with good courage to your rest.
By debt you shall not sleep oppress’d.
HIS MOTHER.
My debt and sin you’ll wipe away?
BRAND.
Your debt. Observe. The debt: no more.
Your debt alone I can repay;
Your sin yourself must answer for.
The sum of native human worth
Crush’d in the brutish toil of earth
Can verily by human aid
To the last atom be repaid;
But in the _losing_ of it lies
The sin, which who repents not—dies!
HIS MOTHER.
[_Uneasily._]
’Twere best I took my homeward way
To the deep valley, to the gloom;
Such rank and poisonous fancies bloom
In this insufferable ray;
I’m almost fainting at the fume.
BRAND.
Seek you the shadow; I abide.
And if you long for light and sky,
And fain would see me ere you die,
Call me, and I am by your side.
HIS MOTHER.
Yes, with a sermon on my doom!
BRAND.
No, tender both as priest and child
I’ll shield you from the wind of dread,
And singing low beside your bed
Lull to repose your anguish wild.
HIS MOTHER.
And that with lifted hand you swear?
BRAND.
When you repent I will be there.
[_Approaching her._]
But I too make conditions. Hear.
Whatever in this world is dear
Willingly you must from you rend,
And naked to the grave descend.
HIS MOTHER.
[_Wildly repulsing him._]
Bid fire be sever’d from its heat,
Snow from its cold, wave from its wet!
Ask less!
BRAND.
Toss a babe overboard,
And beg the blessing of the Lord.
HIS MOTHER.
Ask something else: ask hunger, thirst,—
But not what all men deem the worst!
BRAND.
If just that _worst_ is asked in vain,
No other can His grace obtain.
HIS MOTHER.
A money-alms I will present you!
BRAND.
_All?_
HIS MOTHER.
All! Son, will not _much_ content you?
BRAND.
Your guilt you never shall put by
Till you, like Job, in ashes die.
HIS MOTHER.
[_Wringing her hands._]
My life destroy’d, my soul denied,
My goods soon scatter’d far and wide!
Home then, and in these fond arms twine
All that I still can say is _mine_!
My treasure, child in anguish born,
For thee my bleeding breast was torn;—
Home then, and weep as mothers weep
Over their sickly babes asleep.—
Why did my soul in flesh take breath,
If love of flesh is the soul’s death?—
Stay near me, priest!—I am not clear
How I shall feel when death is near.
“Naked into the grave descend,”—
I’ll wait, at least, until the end.
[_Goes._
BRAND.
[_Gazing after her._]
Yes, thy son shall still be near,
Call to him, and he shall hear.
Stretch thy hand, and, cold and perish’d,
At his heart it shall be cherish’d.
[_Goes down to Agnes._]
As the Morn not so the Night.
Then my soul was set on fight,
Then I heard the war-drum rattle,
Yearn’d the sword of Wrath to swing,
Lies to trample, Trolls to fling,
Fill the world with clashing battle.
AGNES.
[_Has turned round to him, and looks radiantly up._]
By the Night the Morn was pale.
Then I sought the joys that fail;
Sought to triumph by attaining
What in losing I am gaining.
BRAND.
Visions stirring, visions splendid
Like a flock of swans descended,
On their spreading wings upbore me,
And I saw my way before me;—
Sin-subduer of the Age
Sternly stemming seas that rage.
Church-processions, banners streaming
Anthems rolling, incense steaming
Golden goblets, victor-songs,
Rapt applause of surging throngs,
Made a glory where I fought.
All in dazzling hues was wrought;—
Yet it was an empty dream,
A brief mountain-vision, caught
Half in glare and half in gleam.
Now I stand where twilight gray
Long forestalls the ebb of day,
’Twixt the water and the wild,
From the busy world exiled,
Just a strip of heaven’s blue dome
Visible;—but this is _Home_.
Now my Sabbath dream is dark;
To the stall my winged steed;
But I see a higher Mark.
Than to wield the knightly sabre,—
Daily duty, daily labour,
Hallow’d to a Sabbath-deed.
AGNES.
And that God, who was to fall?
BRAND.