Part 18 (2/2)

”Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here Over the lofty mountains?

Fairer the lands beyond must appear, Higher the trees and the skies far more clear.

Wouldst thou but longing be bringing, Bird, but no wings with thy singing?

”Shall I the journey never take Over the lofty mountains?

Must my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break?

Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make, Shutting at last in around me, Till for my tomb it surround me?

”Forth will I! forth! Oh, far, far away, Over the lofty mountains!

I will be crushed and consumed if I stay; Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way, Let it its flight now be taking, Not on this rock-wall be breaking!

”One day I know I shall wander afar Over the lofty mountains!

Lord, my G.o.d, is thy door ajar?

Good is thy home where the blessed are; Keep it though closed a while longer, Till my deep longing grow stronger.”[25]

Arne stood still until the last verse, the last word, had died away.

Again he heard the birds sporting and twittering, but he knew not whether he himself dared stir. Find out who had been singing, though, he must; he raised his foot and trod so carefully that he could not hear the gra.s.s rustle. A little b.u.t.terfly alighted on a flower, directly at his feet, had to start up again, flew only a little piece farther, had to start up again, and so on all over the hill as he crept cautiously up. Soon he came to a leafy bush, and cared to go no farther, for now he could see. A bird flew up from the bush, gave a startled cry and darted over the sloping hill-side, and then she who was sitting within view looked up. Arne stooped far down, holding his breath, his heart throbbing so wildly that he heard its every beat, listening, not daring to move a leaf, for it was, indeed, she,--it was Eli whom he saw!

After a long, long while, he looked up just a little, and would gladly have drawn a step nearer but he thought the bird might perhaps have its nest under the bush, and was afraid he would tread on it. He peered out between the leaves as they blew aside and closed together again. The sun shone directly on her. She wore a black dress without sleeves,[26] and had a boy's straw hat perched lightly on her head, and slanting a little to one side. In her lap lay a book, and on it a profusion of wild flowers; her right hand was dreamily toying with them; in her left, which rested on her knee, her head was bowed. She was gazing in the direction of the bird's flight, and it really seemed as though she had been weeping.

Anything more lovely Arne had neither seen nor dreamed of in his whole life; the sun, too, had scattered all its gold over her and the spot where she was sitting, and the song still floated about her, although its last notes had long since been sung, so that he thought, breathed--aye, even his heart beat in time to it.

She took up the book and opened it, but soon closed it again and sat as before, beginning to hum something else. It was, ”The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown.” He knew it at once, although she did not quite remember either the words or the tune, and made many mistakes. The stanza she knew best was the last one, therefore she often repeated it; but she sang it thus:--

”The tree bore its berries, so mellow and red: 'May I gather thy berries?' a sweet maiden said.

'Yes, dear; all thou canst see; Take them; all are for thee;'

Said the tree--trala-lala, trala, lala--said.”[27]

Then suddenly she sprang up, scattering the flowers all around her, and sang aloud, so that the tune, as it quivered through the air, could easily be heard all the way over to Boen. And then she ran away. Should he call after her? No! There she went skipping over the hills, singing, trolling; her hat fell off, she picked it up again; and then she stood still in the midst of the tallest gra.s.s.

”Shall I call after her? She is looking round!”

He quickly stooped down. It was a long while before he dared peep forth again; at first he only raised his head; he could not see her: then he drew himself up on his knees, and still could not see her; finally, he got all the way up. No, she was gone! He no longer wanted to go to the parsonage. He wanted nothing!

Later he sat where she had been sitting, still sat there until the sun drew near the meridian. The lake was not ruffled by a single ripple; the smoke from the gards began to curl upward; the land-rails, one after another, had ceased their call; the small birds, though, continued their sportive gambols, but withdrew to the wood; the dew was gone and the gra.s.s looked sober; not a breath of wind stirred the leaves; it was about an hour from noon. Arne scarcely knew how it was that he found himself seated there, weaving together a little song; a sweet melody offered itself for it, and into a heart curiously full of all that was gentle, the tune came and went until the picture was complete. He sang the song calmly as he had made it:--

”He went in the forest the whole day long, The whole day long; For there he had heard such a wonderful song, A wonderful song.

”He fas.h.i.+oned a flute from a willow spray, A willow spray, To see if within it the sweet tune lay, The sweet tune lay.

”It whispered and told him its name at last, Its name at last; But then, while he listened, away it pa.s.sed, Away it pa.s.sed.

”But oft when he slumbered, again it stole, Again it stole, With touches of love upon his soul, Upon his soul.

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