'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.