The Feast at Solhoug eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 50 pages of information about The Feast at Solhoug.

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.

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The Feast at Solhoug from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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