[_With growing excitement._]
Down with them that quench’d our light
Sapp’d the marrow of our might!
BRAND.
In your souls the demon dwells
That has bound you with his spells.
You have put your powers at mart,
You have cleft yourselves in twain;
Discord therefore numbs your brain,
Petrifies your hollow heart.
To the Church to-day what drew you?
But the show, the show—nought else!—
Roll of organ, clash of bells,—
And to feel the tingle through you
Of a speaking-furnace dart,
As it lisps and lilts and prattles,
As it rolls and roars and rattles,
By the strictest rules of Art!
THE DEAN.
[_To himself._]
The Mayor’s chatter, he must mean.
THE MAYOR.
[_Likewise._]
That’s the twaddle of the Dean!
BRAND.
Nothing but the altar-glow
Of the Festival you know.
Get you home then to your sloth,
Get you home to toil and stress,
Soul as well as body clothe
In its common work-day dress,—
And the Bible slumber sound
Till the next Saint’s day comes round.
O, it was not to this end
That the Offering-cup I drain’d!
I the Greater Church ordain’d,
That its shadow might descend,
Not alone on Faith and Creed
But on everything in life
That by God’s leave lives indeed;—
On our daily strain and strife,
Midnight weeping, evening rest,
Youth’s impetuous delight,
All that harbours of good right,
Mean or precious, in the breast.
Yonder foss’s hidden thunder,
And the beck that sparkles under,
And the bellow of wild weather,
And the murmurous ocean’s tongue
Should have melted, soul-possess’d,
With the organ’s roll together,
And the gather’d people’s song.
Sweep this lying Labour hence!
Mighty only in pretence!
Stricken inly with decay
On its consecration day,—
Symbol of your impotence.
All the germs of soul you aim
By divided toil to maim;
For the week’s six days ye drag
To the deepest deep God’s flag,
For one only of the seven,
Let it flutter forth to heaven!
VOICES FROM THE THRONG.
Lead us, lead us! Tempest lowers!
Lead us, and the day is ours!
THE DEAN.
Do not hear him! Nought he knows
Of the Faith a Christian owes!
BRAND.
Ay, thou nam’st the flaw whereby
Both the throng, and thou and I,
Are beset! To souls alone
Faith is possible,—show me one!
Show me one that his best treasure
Has not inly flung to waste
In his fumbling, or his haste!
First, the reeling plunge for pleasure
To the tabor’s juggling strain
Till the zest of pleasure’s slain;
Then, soul-ruins, charr’d and stark,
Turn to dance before the Ark!
When the cup’s last liquor slips
Through the brain-worn cripple’s lips,
Ho! ’tis time to pray and mend,
Sure of pardon in the end.
First God’s image you outwear,
Live the beast within you bare,
Then to Mercy cry your needs,
Seeking God—as invalids!
So, His Kingdom’s overthrown.
What should He with souls effete
Grovelling at His mercy-seat?
Said He not that then alone
When your lifeblood pulses tense,
Through all veins of soul and sense,
Ye His kingdom shall inherit?
Children ye must be to share it;
No man hobbles through its gate.
Come then, ye whose cheek is rife
With the bloom of childhood yet
To the greater Church of Life!
THE MAYOR.
Open it then!
THE MULTITUDE.
[_Crying out as in anguish._]
No! Not this!
BRAND.
It has neither mark nor bound,
But its floor the green earth is,
Mead and mountain, sea and sound;
And the overarching sky
Is its only canopy.
There shall all thy work be wrought
As an anthem for God’s ear,
There thy week-day toil be sought
With no sacrilege to fear.
There the World be like a tree
Folded in its shielding bark;
Faith and Action blended be.
There shall daily labour fuse
With right Teaching and right Use,
Daily drudgery be one
With star-flights beyond the sun,
One with Yule-tide revelry
And the Dance before the Ark.
[_A stormy agitation passes over the multitude; some
retire; most press close about BRAND._
A THOUSAND VOICES.
Light is kindled in the dark;—
Life and serving God’s the same!
THE DEAN.
Woe on us! He wins them—hark!
Mayor, sexton, beadle, clerk!
THE MAYOR.
[_Aside._]
Do not scream so, o’ God’s name!
With a bull who wants a bout?
Let him roar his ravin out!
BRAND.
[_To the multitude._]
Hence—away! God is afar!
Cannot be where such men are!
Fair His kingdom is and free!
[_Locks the church-door and takes the keys in his
hand._]
Here I will be priest no more.
I revoke my gift;—from me
No man shall receive the key
Of the yet unopen’d door!
[_Throws the keys into the river._]
Wilt thou in, thou slave of clay,—
Through the crypt-hole worm thy way;
Lithe thy back is, creep and ply;
From that charnel let thy sigh
Roam the earth with venom’d breath,
Like the flagging gasp of death!
THE MAYOR.
[_Aside with relief._]
Ha, _his_ hope of knighthood’s dim!
THE DEAN.
[_Similarly._]
Well; no bishopric for him!
BRAND.
Come thou, young man—fresh and free—
Let a life-breeze lighten thee
From this dim vault’s clinging dust.
Conquer with me! For thou must
One day waken, one day rise,
Nobly break with compromise;—
Up, and fly the evil days,
Fly the maze of middle ways,
Strike the foeman full and fair,
Battle to the death declare!
THE MAYOR.
Hold! I’ll read the Riot Act!
BRAND.
Read! With you I break my pact.
THE MULTITUDE.
Show the way, and we will follow!
BRAND.
Over frozen height and hollow,
Over all the land we’ll fare,
Loose each soul-destroying snare
That this people holds in fee,
Lift and lighten, and set free,
Blot the vestige of the beast,
Each a Man and each a Priest,
Stamp anew the outworn brand,
Make a Temple of the land.
[_The multitude, including the SEXTON and
SCHOOLMASTER, throng around him. BRAND is lifted
on to their shoulders._
MANY VOICES.
’Tis a great Time! Visions fair
Dazzle through the noontide glare.
[_The great mass of the assemblage streams away up
the valley; a few remain._
THE DEAN.
[_To the departing crowd._]
O, ye blinded ones, what would you?
Lo! behind his seeming sooth
Satan scheming to delude you!
THE MAYOR.
Ho there! Turn! Folks born to track
Safe home-waters still and smooth!
Stop!—ye go to ruin and wrack!—
(Dogs! And not a word comes back!)
THE DEAN.
Think of household and of home!
VOICES FROM THE MULTITUDE.
To a greater Home we come!
THE MAYOR.
Think of meadow-plot and field;
Think of teeming stall and fold!
VOICES.
Heavenly dews did manna yield
When the chosen starved of old!
THE DEAN.
Hark! your women cry in chorus!
VOICES.
[_In the distance._]
Ours they are not if they quail!
THE DEAN.
“Father’s gone!” your children wail.
THE WHOLE MULTITUDE.
Be against us, or be for us!
THE DEAN.
[_Gazes a while with folded hands after them; then
dejectedly._]
By his faithless flock deserted
Stands the old shepherd, heavy-hearted,
Plunder’d to the very skin!
THE MAYOR.
[_Shaking his fist at BRAND._]
_His_ the scandal; _his_ the sin!
But we’ll shortly win the fight!
THE DEAN.
[_Almost breaking down._]
Win? Of all our people cheated?—
THE MAYOR.
Ay, but we are not defeated,
If I know my lambs aright!
[_Follows them._
THE DEAN.
Whither will he, in heaven’s name?
As I live, he’s after them!
Ha, my drooping courage rises,
I will also do and dare,—
Make assaults and capture prizes!
Bring my steed;—that is, prepare
A safe, steady mountain mare!
[_They go._
--------------
_By the highest farms in the valley. The land rises in the
background, and passes into great barren mountains.
Rain._
_BRAND, followed by the multitude—men, women, and
children,—comes up the slopes._
BRAND.
Look onward! Triumph flies ahead!
Your homes are hidden in the deep,
And over it, from steep to steep,
The storm his cloudy tent has spread.
Forget the pit of sloth ye trod,
Fly free aloft, ye sons of God!
A MAN.
Wait; my old father is dead beaten.
ANOTHER.
Since yesterday I’ve nothing eaten——
SEVERAL.
Ay, still our hunger, slake our thirst!
BRAND.
On, on, across the mountain first!
SCHOOLMASTER.
Which way?
BRAND.
All ways alike are right
That reach the goal. This way pursue——
A MAN.
Nay, it is steep, and ’twill be night
Ere we are well upon the height.
THE SEXTON.
And that way lies the Ice-church too.
BRAND.
The steep way is the short way still.
A WOMAN.
My foot is sore!
ANOTHER.
My child is ill!
A THIRD.
Where shall I get a drop to drink?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Priest, feed the people;—see, they sink.
MANY VOICES.
A miracle! A miracle!
BRAND.
O, the slave-stamp has branded deep;
The toil you shirk, the hire you crave.
Up, and shake off this deadly sleep,—
Or else, get back into the grave!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Ay, he is right; first face the foe;
The hire comes afterwards, you know.
BRAND.
It shall, as sure as God looks forth
Over the breadth and depth of Earth!
MANY VOICES.
He’s prophesying! He’s prophesying!
SEVERAL.
Hark, priest, will it be warm, this fight?
OTHERS.
And bloody? And will it last till night?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_Aside._]
I trust there is no risk of dying?
A MAN.
Priest, must we really face the fire?
ANOTHER.
What is _my_ portion of the hire?
A WOMAN.
You’re sure I shall not lose my son?
THE SEXTON.
By Tuesday will the field be won?
BRAND.
[_Looking round in bewilderment on the throng._]
What would you know? What’s your demand?
THE SEXTON.
Firstly, how long we shall make war.
Then, of our total loss therein.
And finally,—how much we win?
BRAND.
This ye demand?
THE SEXTON.
Yes, ’faith; before
We did not rightly understand.
BRAND.
[_Deeply moved._]
Then ye shall understand it now!
THE MULTITUDE.
[_Thronging closer._]
Speak! Speak!
BRAND.
How long the war will last?
As long as life, till ye have cast
All ye possess before the Lord,
And slain the Spirit of Accord;
Until your stiff will bend and bow,
And every coward scruple fall
Before the bidding: Nought or All!
What you will lose? Your gods abhorr’d,
Your feasts to Mammon and the Lord,
The glittering bonds ye do not loathe,
And all the pillows of your sloth!
What you will gain? A will that’s whole,—
A soaring faith, a single soul,
The willingness to lose, that gave
Itself rejoicing to the grave;—
A crown of thorns on every brow;—
That is the wage you’re earning now!
THE MULTITUDE.
[_With a furious cry._]
Betray’d! Betray’d! Deceived! Misled!
BRAND.
I say but what I always said!
SEVERAL.
You promised us the victor’s prize;
And now it turns to sacrifice!
BRAND.
I promised victory,—and to you
Victory shall indeed be due.
But every man who fights in front
Must perish in the battle’s brunt;
If that he dares not, let him lay
His arms down ere the battle-day
The flag’s predestined to surrender
That has a timorous defender;
And he that shudders at the cost,
Ere he is wounded, he is lost.
THE MULTITUDE.
He insolently bids us die
To serve unborn posterity!
BRAND.
Through thorny steeps of sacrifice,
The way unto our Canaan lies.
Triumph through death! I call you all,
As Champions of God to fall!
THE SEXTON.
Well, we are in a pretty plight!
No mercy to expect below——
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Nay, we have bade the dale good-night.
THE SEXTON.
And forward, forward, who will go?
SOME.
To death with him!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
’Twere pity, so!
We want a general, you know!
WOMEN.
[_Pointing in terror downwards._]
The Dean! The Dean!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_To the throng._]
Nay, never fear!
THE DEAN.
[_Comes in, followed by some of those who remained behind._]
O my beloved! O my sheep!
To the old shepherd’s voice give ear!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_To the throng._]
A home no more we have below;
Better we follow up the steep!
THE DEAN.
That ye could grieve my heart so sore,
And pierce me with a wound so deep!
BRAND.
Thou wast their soul’s scourge evermore!
THE DEAN.
Don’t heed him! He is stuffing you
With idle promises.
SEVERAL.
That’s true!
THE DEAN.
But we are gracious, and forgive
Where we true penitence perceive.
O, turn your eyes into your hearts
And mark the diabolic arts
With which he won you to his aid!
THE MULTITUDE.
Ay, sure enough; we were betray’d!
THE DEAN.
And then consider; what can ye,
A knot of scatter’d dalesmen, do?
Are high heroic deeds for you?
Can ye give bondsmen liberty?
You have your daily task; pursue it!
Whatever is beyond, eschew it!
What can your prowess brave or baulk?
Ye have your humble homes to keep.
What would you between eagle and hawk?
What would you between wolf and bear?
Ye fall but to the strongest’s share.
O my beloved! O my sheep!
THE MULTITUDE.
Ay, woe on us,—his words are true!
THE SEXTON.
And yet, when from the dale we drew,
Upon ourselves we locked the door;
We have no home there, as before.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
No, he has open’d all our eyes,
Laid bare sins, sicknesses, and lies;
The sleepy people sleeps no more;
And deadly to our waking seems
The life that satisfied our dreams.
THE DEAN.
Ah, trust me, that will soon pass over.
All will return to the old state,
If you will just be still and wait.
These folks, I’ll wage, will soon recover
The wonted calm they have foregone.
BRAND.
Choose, men and women!
SOME.
Home!
OTHERS.
Too late!
Too late! Along the height press on!
THE MAYOR.
[_Enters in haste._]
O lucky chance I caught you up.
WOMEN.
Ah, dear kind master, don’t be stern.
THE MAYOR.
Not now; provided you return!
A better day, a brighter season
Dawns for us! If you’ll hark to reason,
You’ll all be rich men ere you sup!
SEVERAL.
How so?
THE MAYOR.
There is a herring-horde
By millions swimming in the fjord!
THE MULTITUDE.
What does he say?
THE MAYOR.
Set all to rights!
Fly from these stormy uplands bare.
Till now the herrings swam elsewhere;
Now, friends, at last, our barren bights
Good fortune tardily requites.
BRAND.
Between God’s summons choose, and his!
THE MAYOR.
Consult your own shrewd faculties!
THE DEAN.
A Miracle Divine is here!
A Providential Token clear!
How oft I dreamt that this befell!
I took it for a nightmare’s spell;
And now its meaning is revealed——
BRAND.
Yourselves you ruin, if you yield!
MANY.
A herring-horde!
THE MAYOR.
By millions told!
THE DEAN.
For wife and children, bread and gold!
THE MAYOR.
You see, then, this is not an hour
To waste your forces in a fray,
And against energies whose power
Strikes in the very Dean dismay.
Now ye have other ends in view
Than idly pining for the sky.
Heaven, trust me, can your arms defy,
And God’s not easy to subdue.
Don’t mix yourselves in others’ strife,
But gather in the proffer’d fruit,
That is a practical pursuit,
That does not call for blood and knife;
That asks no sacrifice of life,
And gives you its good things to boot!
BRAND.
Just sacrifice is His demand,—
Flame-writ in Heaven by His hand!
THE DEAN.
Ah, if you feel a call that way,
Just come to me next Sunday, say,
And on my word I’ll——
THE MAYOR.
[_Interrupting._]
Yes, yes, yes!
THE SEXTON.
[_Aside to the DEAN._]
Shall I be suffer’d keep my place?
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_Similarly._]
Shall I be forced to leave my school?
THE DEAN.
[_Aside to them._]
If these stiff necks you overrule
We will deal mildly with your case.
THE MAYOR.
Away—away with you! time flies!
THE SEXTON.
To boat, to boat, whoever’s wise!
SOME.
Ay, but the priest?——
THE SEXTON.
O, leave the fool!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Here speaks the Lord as clearly, look,
As in an open printed book!
THE MAYOR.
Leave him; that’s law and justice too;
With babbling tales he flouted you.
SEVERAL.
He lied to us!
THE DEAN.
His creed’s accursed;
And think, he never got a First!
SOME.
Never got _what_?
THE MAYOR.
A grain of sense.
THE SEXTON.
Nay, of that we have evidence!
THE DEAN.
Vainly his mother’s dying breath
For the last sacrament made suit!
THE MAYOR.
His child he almost did to death!
THE SEXTON.
His wife as well!
WOMEN.
O heartless brute!
THE DEAN.
Bad spouse, bad father, and bad son,—
Worse Christian surely there is none!
MANY VOICES.
Our ancient Church he overthrew!
OTHERS.
And shot the bolt upon the new!
OTHERS AGAIN.
He wreck’d us in a roaring stream!
THE MAYOR.
He pilfer’d my Asylum-scheme!
BRAND.
On every branded brow I see
This generation’s destiny.
THE WHOLE THRONG.
[_Roaring._]
Hoo, never heed him! Stone and knife!
Send the fiend flying for his life!
[_BRAND is driven with stones out into the wild. His
pursuers then return._
THE DEAN.
O my beloved! O my sheep!
Back to your homes and hearths once more;
Your eyes in true repentance steep,
And see what blessings are in store.
God in His mercy is so good,
He asketh not the guiltless blood;—
And our authorities as well
Are singularly placable;
Mayor, magistrate, and sheriff too,
Will not be over hard on you;
And for myself, that large humanity
That marks our modern Christianity
Is mine; your rulers will descend
And dwell with you, as friend with friend.
THE MAYOR.
But should abuses be detected,
They must, past question, be corrected.
When we’ve a little time to move,
I’ll have appointed a commission,
To seek how best we may improve
Your intellectual condition.
Some clergymen it should include
Such as the Dean and I think good,—
And furthermore, if you prefer,
The Sexton and the Schoolmaster,
With others of a humbler sort,—
You’ll all be satisfied, in short.
THE DEAN.
Yes, we’ll relieve your burdens all,
As ye this day have brought relief
To your old shepherd in his grief.
Let each find comfort in the thought
That here a miracle was wrought.
Farewell! Good fortune to your haul!
THE SEXTON.
Ah, there’s true charity, if you will!
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
So meek and unassuming still.
WOMEN.
So kindly, and so nice!
OTHER WOMEN.
And then
Such condescending gentlemen!
THE SEXTON.
_They_ don’t demand the martyr’s throe.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
The Lord’s Prayer is not all they know.
[_The throng passes on downwards._
THE DEAN.
[_To the MAYOR._]
Ah, that has taken. It is plain
A great revulsion is in train;
For, by God’s blessed benefaction,
There is a thing men call Reaction.
THE MAYOR.
’Twas my achievement, to control
The infant riot ere it grew.
THE DEAN.
Ah, to the miracle most was due.
THE MAYOR.
What miracle?
THE DEAN.
The herring-shoal.
THE MAYOR.
[_Whistling._]
That was, I need not say, a lie.
THE DEAN.
Really, a lie?
THE MAYOR.
I just let loose
At the first fancy that came by;
Is it a sin such means to use
In such a cause?
THE DEAN.
God bless me, no
Need is an adequate excuse.
THE MAYOR.
And then, to-morrow, when the glow
Of agitation’s dead, or dying,
What will it matter if the end
Was gain’d by telling truth, or lying?
THE DEAN.
I am no formalist, my friend.
[_Looks up into the wild._]
But is’t not Brand that yonder drags
His slow course upward?
THE MAYOR.
Ay, you’re right!
A lonely warrior off to fight!
THE DEAN.
Nay, there’s another too—that lags
Far in the rear!
THE MAYOR.
Why;—that is Gerd;
The herdsman’s worthy of the herd.
THE DEAN.
[_Facetiously._]
When he has still’d his losing whim,
This is the epitaph for him:
“Here lieth Brand; his tale’s a sad one;
One soul he saved,—and that a mad one!”
THE MAYOR.
[_With his finger to his nose._]
But, on reflection, I have some
Misgivings that the folk’s decree
A little lack’d humanity.
THE DEAN.
[_Shrugging his shoulders._]
_Vox populi vox Dei._ Come!
[_They go._
--------------
_High up among the mountains. A storm is rising and chasing
the clouds heavily over the snow-slopes; black peaks
and summits appear here and there, and are veiled
again by the mist._
_BRAND comes, bleeding and broken, up the mountain._
BRAND.
[_Stops and looks backward._]
From the vale they follow’d thronging,
Never one has reached the height.
Through all bosoms thrill’d the longing
For a greater Day’s dawn-light;
Through all souls subduing strode
The alarum-call of God.
But the sacrifice they dread!
Will, the weakling, hides his head;—
_One_ man died for them of yore,—
Cowardice is crime no more!
[_Sinks down on a stone, and looks with
shrinking gaze around._]
Oft I shudder’d at their doom;
And I walk’d, with horror quivering,
As a little child walks shivering
Amid shrieking shapes that loom
In a dim and haunted room.
But I check’d my bosom’s quaking,
And bethought me, and consoled it:
Out of doors the day is breaking,
Not of night it is, this gloom,
But the shutters barr’d enfold it;
And I thought, the day inwelling,
Rich with summer’s golden bloom,
Shall anon prevail, expelling
All the darkness that is dwelling
In the dim and haunted room.
O how bitter my dismay!
Pitchy darkness on me broke,—
And, without, a nerveless folk
Sat forlorn by fjord and bay,
Dim traditions treasuring
While their sotted souls decay.
Even as, year by year, the king
Treasured up his Snefrid dead,
Loosed the linen shroud o’erspread
By her mute heart listening low,
Still upon hope’s fragments fed,
Thinking, “_Now_ the roses red
In her pallid ashes blow!”
None, like him, arose, and gave
The grave’s debt unto the grave;
None among them wise to know:
“Dreaming cannot kindle dust,
Down into the earth it must,
Dust is only made to breed
Nurture for the new-sown seed.”
Night, black night,—and night again
Over children, women, men!
O could I with levin-flame
Save them from the straw-death’s shame!
[_Leaps up._]
Gloomy visions I see sweep
Like the Wild Hunt through the night.
Lo, the Time is Tempest-dight,
Calls for heroes, death to dare,
Calls for naked steel to leap,
And for scabbards to hang bare;—
Kinsfolk, lo, to battle riding,
While their gentle brothers, hiding,
From the hat of darkness peep.
And yet more I do divine—
All the horror of their shame,—
Men that shriek and wives that whine,
Deaf to every cry and claim,
See them on their brows imprinting
“Poor folks sea-bound” for their name,
“Humble farthings of God’s minting!”
Pale they listen to the fray,—
Willing-weakness for their shield.—
Rainbow o’er the mead of May,
Flag, where fliest thou now afield?
Where’s that tricolor to-day,—
Which the wind of myriad song,
Beat and bellied from the mast
Till a zealot king at last
Split it into teeth and tongue?
But you used the tongue to brag;
And what boots the toothed flag
If the dragon dares not bite?
Would the folk had spared those cheers,
And the zealot king those shears!
Four-square flag of peace suffices,
When a stranded craft capsizes,
To give warning of her plight!
Direr visions, worse foreboding,
Glare upon me through the gloom!
Britain’s smoke-cloud sinks corroding
On the land in noisome fume;
Smirches all its tender bloom,
All its gracious verdure dashes,
Sweeping low with breath of bane,
Stealing sunlight from the plain,
Showering down like rain of ashes
On the city of God’s doom.—
Fouler featured men are grown;—
Dropping water’s humming drone
Echoes through the mine’s recesses:
Bustling, smug, a pigmy pack
Plucks its prey from ore’s embraces,
Walks with crooked soul and back,
Glares like dwarfs with greedy eyes
For the golden glittering lies;
Speechless souls with lips unsmiling,
Hearts that fall of brothers rends not,
Nor their own to fury frets,
Hammer-wielding, coining, filing;
Light’s last gleam forlornly flies;
For this bastard folk forgets
That the need of willing ends not
When the power of willing dies!
Direr visions, direr doom,
Glare upon me through the gloom.
Craft, the wolf, with howl and yell,
Bays at Wisdom, sun of earth;
Cries of ruin ring to North,
Call to arms by fjord and fell;
And the pigmy, quaking, grim,
Hisses: “What is that to him?”
Let the other nations glow,
Let the mighty meet the foe,
We can ill afford to bleed,—
We are weak, may fairly plead
From a giants’ war exemption,
Need not offer All as meed
For our fraction of Redemption.
Not for us the cup He drank,
Not for us the thorny wreath
In His temples drove its teeth,
Not for us the spear-shaft sank
In the Side whose life was still.
Not for us the burning thrill
Of the nails that clove and tore.
We, the weak, the least accounted,
Battle-summons may ignore!
Not for us the Cross He mounted!
Just the stirrup-slash’s stain,
Just the gash the cobbler scored
In the shoulder of the Lord,
Is our portion of His pain!
[_Throws himself down in the snow and covers
his face; presently he looks up._]
Was I dreaming! Dream I still?
Mist-enshrouded is the hill.
Were those visions but the vain
Phantoms of a fever’d brain?
Is the image clean outworn
Whereunto Man’s soul was born?
Is the Maker’s spirit fled——
[_Listening._]
Ha, what song breaks overhead?
INVISIBLE CHOIR.
[_In the sough of the storm._]
Never shalt thou win His spirit;
Thou in mortal flesh wast born:
Spurn his bidding or revere it;
Equally thou art forlorn.
BRAND.
[_Repeats the words, and says softly._]
Woe’s me, woe; I well may fear it!
Stood He not, and saw me pray,
Sternly smote my prayer away?
All I loved He has demanded,
All the ways of light seal’d fast,
Made me battle single-handed,
And be overthrown at last!
THE CHOIR.
[_Louder, above him._]