Gunnar—| There standeth a birch in the lightsome lea,Ragnhild— | In the lightsome lea;Gunnar— | So fair she stands in the sunlight free,Ragnhild— | In the sunlight free;Both— | So fair she stands in the sunlight free.Ragnhild— | High up on the mountain there standeth a pine,Gunnar— | There standeth a pine;Ragnhild— | So stanchly grown and so tall and fine,Gunnar— | So tall and fine;Both— | So stanchly grown and so tall and fine.Gunnar— | A maiden I know as fair as the day,Ragnhild— | As fair as the day;Gunnar— | She shines like the birch in the sunlight’s play,Ragnhild— | In the sunlight’s play;Both— | She shines like the birch in the sunlight’s play.Ragnhild— | I know a lad in the spring’s glad light,Gunnar— | In the spring’s glad light;Ragnhild— | Far-seen as the pine on the mountain-height,Gunnar— | On the mountain-height;Both— | Far-seen as the pine on the mountain-height.Gunnar— | So bright and blue are the starry skies,Ragnhild— | The starry skies;Gunnar— | But brighter and bluer that maiden’s eyes,Ragnhild— | That maiden’s eyes;Both— | But brighter and bluer that maiden’s eyes.Ragnhild— | And his have a depth like the fjord, I know,Gunnar— | The fjord, I know;Ragnhild— | Wherein the heavens their beauty show,Gunnar— | Their beauty show;Both— | Wherein the heavens their beauty show.Gunnar— | The birds each morn seek the forest glade,Ragnhild— | The forest glade;Gunnar— | So flock my thoughts to that lily maid,Ragnhild— | That lily maid;Both— | So flock my thoughts to that lily maid.Ragnhild— | The moss it clingeth so fast to the stone,Gunnar— | So fast to the stone;Ragnhild— | So clingeth my soul to him alone,Gunnar— | To him alone;Both— | So clingeth my soul to him alone.Gunnar— | Each brook sings its song, but forever the same,Ragnhild— | Forever the same;Gunnar— | Forever my heart beats that maiden’s name,Ragnhild— | That maiden’s name;Both— | Forever my heart beats that maiden’s name.Ragnhild— | The plover hath but an only tone,Gunnar— | An only tone;Ragnhild— | My life hath its love, and its love alone,Gunnar— | Its love alone;Both— | My life hath its love, and its love alone.Gunnar— | The rivers all to the fjord they go,Ragnhild— | To the fjord they go;Gunnar— | So may our lives then together flow,Ragnhild— | Together flow;Both— | Oh, may our lives then together flow! Here Gunnar stopped, made a leap toward Ragnhild, caught her round the waist, and again danced off with her, while a storm of voices joined in the last refrain, and loud shouts of admiration followed them. For this was a stev that was good for something; long time it was since so fine a stev had been heard on this side of the mountains. Soon the dance became general, and lasted till after midnight. Then the sleigh-bells and the stamping of hoofs from without reminded the merry guests that night was waning. There stood the well-known swan-shaped sleigh from Henjum, and the man on the box was Atle himself. Ragnhild and Gudrun were hurried into it, the whip cracked, and the sleigh shot down over the star-illumined fields of snow. The splendor of the night was almost dazzling as Gunnar came out from the crowded hall and again stood under the open sky. A host of struggling thoughts and sensations thronged upon him. He was happy, oh, so happy!—at least he tried to persuade himself that he was; but strange to say, he did not fully succeed. Was it not toward this day his yearnings had pointed, and about which his hopes had been clustering from year to year, ever since he had been old enough to know what yearning was? Was it not this day which had been beckoning him from afar, and had shed light upon his way like a star, and had he not followed its guidance as faithfully and as trustingly as those wise men of old? “Folly and nonsense,” muttered he; “the night breeds nightly thoughts!” With an effort he again brought Ragnhild’s image before his mind, jumped upon his skees, and darted down over the glittering snow. It bore him toward the fjord. A sharp, chill wind swept up the hillside, and rushed against him. “Houseman’s son!” cried the wind. Onward he hastened. “Houseman’s son!” howled the wind after him. Soon he reached the fjord, hurried on up toward the river-mouth, and coming to the Henjum boat-house, stopped, and walked out to the end of the pier, which stretched from the headland some twenty to thirty feet out into the water. The fjord lay sombre and restless before him. There was evidently a storm raging in the ocean, for the tide was unusually high, and the sky was darkening from the west eastward. The mountain-peaks stood there, stern and lofty as ever, with their heads wrapped in hoods of cloud. Gunnar sat down at the outer edge of the pier, with his feet hanging listlessly over the water, which, in slow and monotonous plashing, beat against the timbers. Far out in the distance he could hear the breakers roar among the rocky reefs; first the long, booming roll, then the slowly waning moan, and the great hush, in which the billows pause to listen to themselves. It is the heavy deep-drawn breath of the ocean. It was cold, but Gunnar hardly felt it. He again stepped into his skees and followed the narrow road, as it wound its way from the fjord up along the river. Down near the mouth, between Henjum and Rimul, the river was frozen, and could be crossed on the ice. Up at Henjumhei it was too swift to freeze. It was near daylight when he reached the cottage. How small and poor it looked! Never had he seen it so before;—very different from Rimul. And how dark and narrow it was all around it! At Rimul they had always sunshine. Truly, the track is steep from Henjumhei to Rimul; the river runs deep between.
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