Chapter II: Part 2

Well, ’tis opposed to all routine
To labour in a strange vocation,
Intrusively to risk one’s skin
Without an adequate occasion.—
_I_ do my duty with precision,—
But always in my own Division.
[_Goes._

--------------

[_Outside the hut on the Ness. Late afternoon. The fjord is
smooth and gleaming. AGNES is sitting_ _by the beach.
Presently BRAND comes out of the hut._]

BRAND.

_That_ was death. The horror-rifted
Bosom at its touch grew whole.
Now he looks a calm great soul,
All illumined and up-lifted.
Has a false illusion might
Out of gloom to win such light?
Of his devil’s-deed he saw
Nothing but the outward flaw,—
That of it which tongue can tell
And to hands is palpable,—
That for which his name’s reviled,—
The brute slaying of his child.
But those two, that sat and gazed
With great frighten’d eyes, amazed,
Speechless, like two closely couching
Birdlets, in the ingle crouching,—
Who but look’d, and look’d, and ever
Look’d, unwitting upon what,—
In whose souls a poison-spot
Bit and sank, which they shall never
Even as old men bent and gray,
In Time’s turmoil wear away,—
They, whose tide of life proceeds
From this fountain of affright,
Who by dark and dreadful deeds
Must be nurtured into light,
Nor by any purging flames
May that carrion thought consume,—
This he saw not, being blind,
That the direst of the doom
Was the doom he left behind.
And from them shall haply rise
Link’d offences one by one.
Wherefore? The abyss replies:
From the father sprang the son!
What shall be by Love erased?
What be quietly effaced?
Where, O where, does guilt begin
In our heritage of sin?
What Assizes, what Assessors,
When that Judgment is declared?
Who shall question, who be heard,
Where we’re all alike transgressors?
Who will venture then to plead
His foul-borrow’d title-deed?
Will the old answer profit yet:
“From my father dates my debt?”
O, abysmal as the night,
Riddle, who can read thee right!
But the people dance light-footed,
Heedless by the dizzy brink;
Where the soul should cry and shrink,
None has vision to perceive
What uptowering guilt is rooted
In that little word: _We live._

[_Some men of the community come from behind the house and
approach BRAND._]

A MAN.

We were to meet again, you see.

BRAND.

His need of human help has ceased.

THE MAN.

Yes; he is ransom’d and released;
But in the chamber still sit three.

BRAND.

And what then?

THE MAN.

Of the scraps we got
Together, a few crumbs we’ve brought——

BRAND.

Though you give all, and life retain,
I tell you that your gift is vain.

THE MAN.

Had he to-day, who now lies dead,
By mortal peril been bested,
And I had heard his foundering cry,
I also would have dared to die.

BRAND.

But peril of the _Soul_ you slight?

THE MAN.

Well, we’re but drudgers day by day.

BRAND.

Then from the downward-streaming light
Turn your eyes utterly away;
And cease to cast the left askance
At heaven, while with the right you glance
Down at the mould where, crouching low,
Self-harness’d in the yoke you go.

THE MAN.

I thought you’d say we ought to shake us
Free of the yoke we toil in?

BRAND.

Yea,
If you are able.

THE MAN.

You can make us!

BRAND.

Can I?

THE MAN.

Full many have been sent
Who told us truly of the way;
The path they pointed to, you _went_.

BRAND.

You mean——?

THE MAN.

A thousand speeches Brand
Less deeply than one dint of deed.
Here in our fellows’ name we stand;—
We see, a _man_ is what we need.

BRAND.
[_Uneasily._]

What will you with me?

THE MAN.

Be our priest.

BRAND.

I? Here!

THE MAN.

You’ve maybe heard it told,
There is no pastor for this fold.

BRAND.

Yes; I recall.

THE MAN.

The place of old
Was large, which now is of the least.
When evil seasons froze the field,
And blight on herdsman fell,
When want struck down the Man, and seal’d
The Spirit with its drowsing spell,
When there was dearth of beef and brew,—
_Then_ came a dearth of parsons too.

BRAND.

Aught else: but this ye must not ask!
I’m summoned to a greater task.
The great world’s open ear I seek;
Through Life’s vast organ I must speak.
What should I here? By mountains pent
The voice of man falls impotent.

THE MAN.

By mountains echoed, longer heard
Is each reverberating word.

BRAND.

Who in a cavern would be bound,
When broad meads beckon all around?
Who’ll sweat to plough the barren land
When there are fruitful fields at hand?
Who’ll rear his fruitage from the seed
When orchards ripen to the skies?
Who’ll struggle on with daily need
When vision gives him wings and eyes?

THE MAN.
[_Shaking his head._]

Your deed I fathom’d,—not your word.

BRAND.
[_Going._]

Question no more! On board! on board!

THE MAN.
[_Barring his way._]

This calling that you must fulfil,
This work, whereon you’ve set your will,
Is it so precious to you, say?

BRAND.

It is my very life!

THE MAN.

Then stay!
[_Pointedly._]
“Though you give all and life retain,
Remember, that your gift is vain.”

BRAND.

One thing is yours you may not spend?
Your very inmost Self of all.
You may not bind it, may not bend,
Nor stem the river of your call.
To make for ocean is its end.

THE MAN.

Though tarn and moorland held it fast,—
As dew ’twould reach the sea at last.

BRAND.
[_Looking fixedly at him._]

Who gave you power to answer thus?

THE MAN.

You, by your deed, you gave it us.
When wind and water raged and roar’d,
And you launch’d out through wind and wave,
When, a poor sinning soul to save,
You set your life upon a board,
Deep into many a heart it fell,
Like wind and sunshine, cold and hot,
Rang through them like a chiming bell,—
[_With lowered voice._]
To-morrow, haply, all’s forgot,
And furl’d the kindling banner bright
You just now lifted in our sight.

BRAND.

Duty is not, where power is not.
[_Sternly._]
If you cannot be what you ought,
Be in good earnest what you may;
Be heart and soul a man of clay.

THE MAN.
[_After gazing on him a moment._]

Woe! you, who quench the lamp you lit;
And us, who had a glimpse of it!

[_He goes; the others silently follow._

BRAND.
[_After long watching them._]

Homewards, one by one, with flagging
Spirits, heavily and slow,
Foreheads bowed, and weary lagging
Footsteps, silently they go.
Each with sorrow in his eyes,
Walks as from a lifted rod,
Walks like Adam spurn’d by God
From the gates of Paradise,—
Walks like him, with sin-veil’d sight,—
Sees, like him, the gathering night,
All his gain of knowledge shares,
All his loss of blindness bears.
I have boldly dared to plan
The refashioning of Man,—
—_There’s_ my work,—Sin’s image grown,
Whom God moulded in His own.—
Forth! to wider fields away!
Here’s no room for battle-play!

[_Going; but pauses as he sees AGNES by the beach._]

See, she listens by the shore,
As to airy songs afloat.
So she listen’d in the boat
As the stormy surge it tore,—
Listening, to the thwart she clung,—
Listening still, the sea-foam hoar
From her open forehead flung.
’Tis as though her ear were changing
Function, and her eye were listening.
[_He approaches._]
Maiden, is it o’er those glistening
Reaches that your eye is ranging?

AGNES.
[_Without turning round._]

Neither those nor aught of earth;
Nothing of them I descry.
But a greater earth there gleams
Sharply outlined on the sky,
Foaming floods and spreading streams,
Mists and sunshine breaking forth.
Scarlet-shafted flames are playing
Over cloud-capp’d mountain heads,
And an endless desert spreads,
Whereupon great palms are swaying
In the bitter-breathing blast.
Swart the shadows that they cast.
Nowhere any living thing;
Like a new world at its birth;
And I hear strange accents ring,
And a Voice interpreting:
“Choose thy endless loss or gain,
Do thy work and bear thy pain;—
Thou shalt people this new earth!”

BRAND.
[_Carried away._]

Say, what further!

AGNES.
[_Laying her hand on her breast._]

In my soul
I can feel new powers awaking,
I can see a dayspring breaking,
I can feel full floods that roll,
And my heart grows larger, freer,
Clasps the world within its girth,
And a voice interprets: Here
Shalt thou people a new earth!
All the thoughts that men shall utter,
All the deeds men shall achieve,
Waken, whisper, quiver, mutter,
As if now they were to live;
And I rather feel than see
Him who sits enthroned above,
Feel that He looks down on me
Full of sadness and of love,
Tender-bright as morning’s breath,
And yet sorrowing unto death:
And I hear strange accents wake:
“Now thou must be made, and make;
Choose thy endless loss or gain!—
Do thy work and bear thy pain!”

BRAND.

Inwards! In! O word of might,
Now I see my way aright.
In _ourselves_ is that young Earth,
Ripe for the divine new-birth;
Will, the fiend, must there be slain,
Adam _there_ be born again.
Let the world then take its way,
Brutal toil or giddy play;
But if e’er we meet in fight,
If my work it seek to blight,
Then, by heaven, I’ll smite and slay!
Room within the wide world’s span,
Self completely to fulfil,—
That’s a valid right of Man,
And no more than that I will!
[_After pondering awhile in silence._]
To fulfil oneself! And yet,
With a heritage of debt?
[_Pauses and looks out._]
Who is she, that, stooping deep,
Chambers hither up the steep,—
Crooked back and craning crop?
Now for breath she has to stop,
Clutches wildly lest she stumble,
And her skinny fingers fumble
Fierce for something that she drags
In those deep and roomy bags.
Skirt, like folds of feather’d skin,
Dangling down her shrivelled shin;
Hands, a pair of clenched hooks;
So the eagle’s carcase looks
Nail’d against the barn-door top.
[_In sudden anguish._]
What chill memories upstart,—
O what gusts from childhood dart
Frosty showers on her—and other
Fiercer frost upon my heart—?
God of grace! It is my Mother!

BRAND’S MOTHER.

[_Comes up, stops when half seen above the slope, holds her
hand up to shade her eyes, and looks round._]

He’s here, they told me.
[_Coming nearer._]
Drat the blaze,—
It nearly takes away my sight!
Son, is that you?

BRAND.

Yes.

HIS MOTHER.
[_Rubbing her eyes._]

Hoo, those rays,
They burn one’s very eyes outright;
I can’t tell priest from boor.

BRAND.

Sun’s light
At home I never saw at all
’Twixt fall of leaf and cuckoo’s call.

HIS MOTHER.
[_Laughing quietly._]

Ay, _there_ ’tis good. One’s gripped with frost
Like icicles o’er a plunging river,
Strong to _dare_ anything whatever,
—And yet believe one is not lost.

BRAND.

Farewell. My leisure time is spent.

HIS MOTHER.

Ay, thou wast ever loth to stay.
As boy thou long’dst to be away—

BRAND.

It was at your desire I went.

HIS MOTHER.

Ay, and good reason too, I say
’Twas needful thou shouldst be a priest.
[_Examines him more closely._]
H’m, he is grown up strong and tall.
But heed this word of mine, at least,—
Care for thy life, son!

BRAND.

Is that all?

HIS MOTHER.

Thy life? What’s dearer?

BRAND.

I would say:
Have you more counsels to convey?

HIS MOTHER.

For others, use them as you may,
And welcome. But thy life, O save it
For my sake; it was I that gave it.
[_Angrily_]
Your mad deed’s talked of far and near;
It scares and harrows me to hear.
On such a day to dare the fjord,
And squander what you’re bound to hoard!
You of our clan survive alone,
You are my son, my flesh and bone;
The roof-tree beam that copes and clinches
The house I’ve builded up by inches.
Stick fast; hold out; endure; survive!
Guard your life! Never let it go!
An heir is bound to keep alive,—
And you’ll be mine—one day—you know——

BRAND.

Indeed? And that was why you plann’d
With loaded purse to seek me here?

HIS MOTHER.

Son, are you raving?
[_Steps back._]
Don’t come near
Stay where you are! You’ll feel my hand!
[_More calmly._]
What were you meaning?—Just attend
I’m getting older year by year;
Sooner or later comes the end;
Then you’ll inherit all I’ve treasured,
’Tis duly counted, weighed and measured—
Nay, nay, I’ve nothing on me now!—
It’s all at home. It is but scant;
But he that gets it will not want.
Stand back there! Don’t come near!—I vow
I’ll fling no stiver of my store
Down fissures, nor in spot unknown
Hide any, nor below a stone.
In wall, or underneath a floor;
All shall be yours, son, you shall be
My sole and single legatee.

BRAND.

And the conditions?

HIS MOTHER.

One I make,
No more; don’t set your life at stake.
Keep up our family and name,
That’s all the gratitude I claim.
Then see that nothing go to waste,—
Naught be divided or displaced;—
Add much or little, as you will;
But O preserve, preserve it still!

BRAND.
[_After a short pause._]

One thing needs clearing ’twixt us two.
From childhood I have thwarted you;—
You’ve been no mother, I no son,
Till you are gray, my childhood gone.

HIS MOTHER.

I do not ask to be caress’d.
Be what you please; I am not nice.
Be stern, be fierce, be cold as ice,
It will not cleave my armour’d breast;
Keep, though you hoard it, what was mine,
And never let it leave our line!

BRAND.
[_Going a step nearer._]

And if I took it in my head
To strew it to the winds, instead?

HIS MOTHER.
[_Reeling back._]

Strew, what through all these years of care
Has bent my back and bleach’d my hair?

BRAND.
[_Nodding slowly._]

To strew it.

HIS MOTHER.

Strew it! If you do,
It is my soul that you will strew!

BRAND.

And if I do it, even so?
If I one evening vigil keep
With lighted taper by your bed,
While you with clasped Psalter sleep
The first night’s slumber of the dead,—
If I then fumble round about,
Draw treasure after treasure out,
Take up the taper, hold it low—?

HIS MOTHER.
[_Approaching excitedly._]

Whence comes this fancy?

BRAND.

Would you know?

HIS MOTHER.

Ay.

BRAND.

From a childish scene that still
Lives in my mind, and ever will,
That seams my soul with foul device
Like an infestering cicatrice.
It was an autumn evening. Dead
Was father; you lay sick in bed.
I stole where he was laid by night,
All pallid in the silver light.
I stood and watched him from my nook,
Saw how his two hands clasp’d the Book;
I marvell’d why he slept so long,
Mark’d his thin wrists, and smelt the strong
Odour of linen newly dried;—
And then I heard a step outside;—
A woman enter’d, strode apace
Up to the bed, nor saw my face.
Then she began to grope and pry;
First put the corpse’s vesture by,
Drew forth a bundle, then a store,
Counted, and whisper’d: There is more!
Then, grubbing deeper in the ground,
Clutch’d a seal’d packet tightly bound,
With trembling fingers strove and tore,
Bit it in two, groped deeper, found,
Counted, and whisper’d; There is more!
She cried, she cursed, she wail’d, she wept,
She scented where the treasure lay,
And then with eager anguish swept
Down like a falcon on her prey.
When she had ransacked all the room,
She turn’d, like one who hears her doom,
Wrapp’d up her booty in a shawl,
And faintly groan’d: So _that_ was all!

HIS MOTHER.

I needed much, I little won;
And very dearly was it bought.

BRAND.

Even more dearly than you thought;
Son’s-heart you shattered in your son.

HIS MOTHER.

Tut, tut. To barter hearts for gold
Was customary from of old.
Still dearer once I had to pay,—
I think I gave my life away.
Something I gave that now is not;—
I seem to see it flash in air
Like something foolish and yet fair;
I gave—I know not rightly what;—
“Love” was the name it used to bear.—
I know it was a bitter choice;
I know my father gave his voice:
“Forget the peasant-boy and wed
The other, ’spite his frosty pate;
A fellow with a knowing head,
He’ll fairly double the estate!”
I took him, and he brought me shame.
The doubled gettings never came.
But I have drudged with streaming brow,
And there is little lacking now.

BRAND.

And do you, as you near your grave,
Know that it was your _soul_ you gave?

HIS MOTHER.

It’s clear that I knew that, at least,
Giving my son to be a priest.
When the hour comes, a grateful heir
Of my salvation will take care;
I own the acres and the pence,
And you the deathbed eloquence.

BRAND.

With all your cunning you mistook;
You read me wrong in childhood’s book.
And many dwell by bank and brae
Who love their children in that way;—
A child’s a steward, you suppose,
Of the parental cast-off clothes;
A glimpse of the Eternal flits
At times across your wandering wits;
You snatch at it, and dream you spring
Into the essence of the thing
By grafting Riches upon Race;—
That Death with Life you can displace,
That years, if steadily amass’d,
Will yield Eternity at last.

HIS MOTHER.

Don’t rummage in your Mother’s mind,
But take what she will leave behind.

BRAND.

The debt as well?

HIS MOTHER.

The debt? What debt?
There is none.

BRAND.

Very good; but yet
Suppose there were,—I should be bound
To settle every claim I found.
The son must satisfy each call
Before the mother’s burial.
Though but four empty walls I took,
I still should own your debit-book.

HIS MOTHER.

No law commands it.

BRAND.

Not the kind
That ink on parchment ever writ;
But deep in every honest mind
Another law is burnt and bit,—
And that I execute. Thou blind!
Learn to have sight! Thou hast debased
The dwelling-place of God on earth,
The spirit He lent thee hast laid waste,
The image that thou bor’st at birth
With mould and filthiness defaced;
Thy Soul, that once had flight and song,
Thrust, clipp’d, among the common throng.
That is your debt. What will you do
When God demands His own of you?

HIS MOTHER.
[_Confused._]

What will I do? Do?——

BRAND.

Never fear;
I take your debt upon me whole.
God’s image, blotted in your soul,
In mine, Will-cleansed, shall stand clear.
Go with good courage to your rest.
By debt you shall not sleep oppress’d.

HIS MOTHER.

My debt and sin you’ll wipe away?

BRAND.

Your debt. Observe. The debt: no more.
Your debt alone I can repay;
Your sin yourself must answer for.
The sum of native human worth
Crush’d in the brutish toil of earth
Can verily by human aid
To the last atom be repaid;
But in the _losing_ of it lies
The sin, which who repents not—dies!

HIS MOTHER.
[_Uneasily._]

’Twere best I took my homeward way
To the deep valley, to the gloom;
Such rank and poisonous fancies bloom
In this insufferable ray;
I’m almost fainting at the fume.

BRAND.

Seek you the shadow; I abide.
And if you long for light and sky,
And fain would see me ere you die,
Call me, and I am by your side.

HIS MOTHER.

Yes, with a sermon on my doom!

BRAND.

No, tender both as priest and child
I’ll shield you from the wind of dread,
And singing low beside your bed
Lull to repose your anguish wild.

HIS MOTHER.

And that with lifted hand you swear?

BRAND.

When you repent I will be there.
[_Approaching her._]
But I too make conditions. Hear.
Whatever in this world is dear
Willingly you must from you rend,
And naked to the grave descend.

HIS MOTHER.
[_Wildly repulsing him._]

Bid fire be sever’d from its heat,
Snow from its cold, wave from its wet!
Ask less!

BRAND.

Toss a babe overboard,
And beg the blessing of the Lord.

HIS MOTHER.

Ask something else: ask hunger, thirst,—
But not what all men deem the worst!

BRAND.

If just that _worst_ is asked in vain,
No other can His grace obtain.

HIS MOTHER.

A money-alms I will present you!

BRAND.

_All?_

HIS MOTHER.

All! Son, will not _much_ content you?

BRAND.

Your guilt you never shall put by
Till you, like Job, in ashes die.

HIS MOTHER.
[_Wringing her hands._]

My life destroy’d, my soul denied,
My goods soon scatter’d far and wide!
Home then, and in these fond arms twine
All that I still can say is _mine_!
My treasure, child in anguish born,
For thee my bleeding breast was torn;—
Home then, and weep as mothers weep
Over their sickly babes asleep.—
Why did my soul in flesh take breath,
If love of flesh is the soul’s death?—
Stay near me, priest!—I am not clear
How I shall feel when death is near.
“Naked into the grave descend,”—
I’ll wait, at least, until the end.
[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Gazing after her._]

Yes, thy son shall still be near,
Call to him, and he shall hear.
Stretch thy hand, and, cold and perish’d,
At his heart it shall be cherish’d.
[_Goes down to Agnes._]
As the Morn not so the Night.
Then my soul was set on fight,
Then I heard the war-drum rattle,
Yearn’d the sword of Wrath to swing,
Lies to trample, Trolls to fling,
Fill the world with clashing battle.

AGNES.
[_Has turned round to him, and looks radiantly up._]

By the Night the Morn was pale.
Then I sought the joys that fail;
Sought to triumph by attaining
What in losing I am gaining.

BRAND.

Visions stirring, visions splendid
Like a flock of swans descended,
On their spreading wings upbore me,
And I saw my way before me;—
Sin-subduer of the Age
Sternly stemming seas that rage.
Church-processions, banners streaming
Anthems rolling, incense steaming
Golden goblets, victor-songs,
Rapt applause of surging throngs,
Made a glory where I fought.
All in dazzling hues was wrought;—
Yet it was an empty dream,
A brief mountain-vision, caught
Half in glare and half in gleam.
Now I stand where twilight gray
Long forestalls the ebb of day,
’Twixt the water and the wild,
From the busy world exiled,
Just a strip of heaven’s blue dome
Visible;—but this is _Home_.
Now my Sabbath dream is dark;
To the stall my winged steed;
But I see a higher Mark.
Than to wield the knightly sabre,—
Daily duty, daily labour,
Hallow’d to a Sabbath-deed.

AGNES.

And that God, who was to fall?

BRAND.

He shall, none the less, be fell’d,—
But in secret, unbeheld,
Not before the eyes of all.
Now I see, I judged astray
Where the Folk’s salvation lay.
Not by high heroic charges
Can you make the People whole;
That which faculty enlarges
Does not heal the fissured soul.
It is _Will_ alone that matters
Will alone that mars or makes,
Will, that no distraction scatters,
And that no resistance breaks.—
[_Turns towards the hamlet, where the shades of
night are beginning to fall._]
Come then, Men, who downcast roam
The pent valley of my home;—
Close conversing we will try
Our own souls to purify,
Slackness curb and falsehood kill,
Rouse the lion’s cub of Will!
Manly, as the hands that smite,
Are the hands that hold the hoe;
There’s _one_ end for all,—to grow
Tablets whereon God may write.

[_He is going. EINAR confronts him._

EINAR.

Stand, and what you took restore!

BRAND.

Is it she? You see her there.

EINAR.
[_To AGNES_]

Choose between the sunny shore
And this savage den of care.

AGNES.

There I have no choice to make.

EINAR.

Agnes, Agnes, hear me yet!
The old saying you forget,
Light to lift and hard to bear.

AGNES.

Go with God, thou tempter fair;
I shall bear until I break.

EINAR.

For thy mother’s, sisters’ sake!

AGNES.

Bring my greetings to my Home;
I will write—if words should come.

EINAR.

Over ocean’s gleaming breast
White sails hurry from the strand;—
Like the sighs of dreaming brows,
Lofty, diamond-beaded prows
Speed them to their haven-rest
In a far-off vision’d land.

AGNES.

Sail to westward, sail to east;—
Think of me as one deceased.

EINAR.

As a sister come with me.

AGNES.
[_Shaking her head._]

’Twixt us rolls a boundless sea.

EINAR.

O, then homeward to thy mother!

AGNES.
[_Softly._]

Not from Master, Friend, and Brother.

BRAND.
[_Coming a step nearer._]

Youthful maiden, weigh it well.
In this mountain-prison pent,
Oversoar’d by crag and fell,
In this dim and yawning rent,
Life henceforward shall be gray
As an ebbing autumn-day.

AGNES.

Gloom appals no more; afar
Through the cloud-wrack gleams a star.

BRAND.

Know, that I am stern to crave,
_All_ or _Nothing_ I will have;
If that call you disobey,
You have flung your life away.
No abatement in distress,
And for sin no tenderness,—
If life’s service God refuse,
Life you joyfully must lose.

EINAR.

Fly this wild insensate play!
Spurn the sullen Doomer’s sway;
Live the life you know you may!

BRAND.

At the crossway standst thou:—choose.
[_Goes._

EINAR.

Choose the stillness or the strife!
For the choice to _go_ or _stay_
Is a choice of calm or fray,
Is a choice of Night or Day,
Is a choice of Death or Life!

AGNES.
[_Rises, and then says slowly_:]

On through Death. On into Night.—
Dawn beyond glows rosy-bright.

[_She follows, where BRAND has gone. EINAR gazes a
moment in bewilderment after her, then bows his
head, and goes back to the fjord._

ACT THIRD.

_Three years later. A little garden by the Parsonage. A
great precipice above, a stone wall round. The fjord,
narrow and pent in, appears in the background. The
house-door opens upon the garden. Afternoon._

_BRAND is standing on the steps outside the house. AGNES is
sitting on the step at his feet._

AGNES.

My dearest husband, still your eye
Over the fjord roves anxiously—

BRAND.

I wait a summons.

AGNES.

With brows bent!

BRAND.

My Mother’s summons. This three years
I’ve waited between hopes and fears
The summons that was never sent.
To-day ’twas told me, past a doubt,
That her life’s span is almost out.

AGNES.
[_Softly and tenderly._]

Brand, _without_ summons you should go?

BRAND.
[_Shakes his head._]

Till she of her offence repent
I have no comfort to bestow.

AGNES.

She is your mother.

BRAND.

It were sin
To worship idols in my kin.

AGNES.

Brand, you are stern!

BRAND.

To you?

AGNES.

Oh no

BRAND.

I warn’d you that the way was steep.

AGNES.
[_Smiling._]

It was not true; you did not keep
Your word.

BRAND.

Yes, here the ice-wind rives;
Your cheek has lost its youthful glow,
Your tender heart is touch’d with snow.
Our home is built where nothing thrives,
Amid a barren waste of stone.

AGNES.

It lies the safer, then! So prone
Beetles yon jutting mountain-wall,
That, when the leafy spring is near,
The brimming avalanche vaults sheer
Over our heads, and we lie clear
As in the hollow of a fall.

BRAND.

The sun we never see at all.

AGNES.

Oh, yet he dances warm and bright
Atop yon mountain that we face.

BRAND.

For three weeks, true,—at summer’s height,—
But never struggles to its base!

AGNES.
[_Looks fixedly at him, rises and says_:]

Brand, there’s _one_ thought at which you shrink.

BRAND.

No, _you_!

AGNES.

No, you!

BRAND.

Within you bear
A secret terror.

AGNES.

Which you share!

BRAND.

You reel as from a dizzy brink!
Out with it! speak it out!

AGNES.

’Tis true
I’ve trembled, whiles——
[_Hesitates_

BRAND.

Trembled! At what!

AGNES.

For Alf.

BRAND.

For Alf?

AGNES.

And so have you!

BRAND.

At times. But no, God takes him not!
God’s merciful! My child shall grow
To be a strong man yet, I know.
Where is he now?

AGNES.

He’s sleeping.

BRAND.
[_Looks in through the door._]

See;
Of pain and grief he dreams not, he;
The little hand is plump and round——

AGNES.

Yet pale.

BRAND.

But that will pass.

AGNES.

How deep,
Restful and quickening is his sleep.

BRAND.

God bless thee; in thy sleep grow sound!
[_Shuts the door._]
To all my labours you and he
Have brought light and tranquillity;
Each irksome task, each mournful care,
’Twas easy, in your midst, to bear;
You near, I never felt dismay,
Grew braver by his baby-play.
A martyrdom I held my Call,
But something has transform’d it all,—
Success still follows my footfall.

AGNES.

Yes, Brand; but you _deserve_ success.
Oh, you have battled, in storm and stress;—
Toil’d on through woe and weariness;—
But tears of blood you wept, apart——

BRAND.

And yet it seem’d so light a thing;
With you, love stole upon my heart
Like a glad sunny day in Spring.
In me Love never had been lit;
No parents’ hand had kindled it,
Rather they quench’d the fitful flashes
That gleam’d at moments in the ashes.
It was as though the tender Soul
That mute and darkling in me slept,
Had, closely garner’d, all been kept
To be my sweet Wife’s aureole.

AGNES.

Not mine alone: but whosoe’er
In our great Household has a share,
Each sorrowing son, each needy brother,
Each weeping child, each mourning mother,
Of quickening nurture have their part,
At the rich banquet of thy heart.

BRAND.

Only through you two. By your hand
That heavenly bridge of love was spann’d;
No single soul can all contain
Except it first have yearn’d for _one_.
I had to long and yearn in vain,
So my heart harden’d into stone.

AGNES.

And yet—your love is merciless;
You chasten whom you would caress.

BRAND.

You, Agnes?

AGNES.

_Me?_ O nay, dear, nay!
On me a lightsome load you lay.
But many falter at the call
To offer _Nothing_ or else _all_.

BRAND.

What the world calls by that name “Love,”
I know not and I reck not of.
God’s love _I_ recognise alone,
Which melts not at the piteous plaint,
Which is not moved by dying groan,
And its caress _is_ chastisement.
What answer’d through the olive-trees
God, when the Son in anguish lay,
Praying, “O take this cup away!”
Did He then take it? Nay, child, nay:
He made him drink it to the lees.

AGNES.

By such a measure meted, all
The souls of earth are forfeited.

BRAND.

None knows on whom the doom shall fall;
But God in flaming speech hath said:
“Be faithful through the hour of strife:
Haggling wins not the crown of life!”
Anguish’d repentance scales not heaven,
The martyr’s doom you must fulfil.
That you lack’d _strength_ may be forgiven,—
But never that you wanted _will_.

AGNES.

Yes, it shall be as you have said;
O lift me to those heights you tread;
To your high heaven lead me forth,
My spirit is strong, my flesh is frail;
Oft, anguish-struck, I faint, I fail,—
My clogg’d foot drags upon the earth.

BRAND.

See, child; of all men God makes one
Demand: No coward compromise!
Whose work’s half done or falsely done,
Condemn’d with God his whole word lies.
We must give sanction to this teaching
By _living_ it and not by preaching.

AGNES.
[_Throws herself on his neck._]

Lead where you will; I follow you!

BRAND.

No precipice is too steep for _two_.

_Enter the DOCTOR; he has come down the road, and stops
outside the garden fence._

THE DOCTOR.

Ha! loving doves at their caresses
In these dark craggy wildernesses?

AGNES.

My dear old Doctor, here at last!
Come in, come in!

[_Runs down and opens the garden gate._

THE DOCTOR.

Ho, not so fast!
We’ve first to settle an old score.—
What! Tie yourself to this wild moor,
Where piercing winds of winter tear
Like ice, soul, body to the core——

BRAND.

Not soul.

THE DOCTOR.

Not? Well, I must admit,
That seems about the truth of it.
Your hasty compact has an air
Of standing firm, unmoved, erect,
Though otherwise, one might expect,
By ancient usage, soon to fade
That which so suddenly was made.

AGNES.

A sunbeam’s kiss, a bell’s note, may
Awaken for a summer’s day.

THE DOCTOR.

A patient waits for me. Farewell.

BRAND.

_My_ mother?

THE DOCTOR.

Yes. You also go?

BRAND.

Not now.

THE DOCTOR.

_Have_ been, I daresay?

BRAND.

No.

THE DOCTOR.

Priest, you are hard. Through mist and snow
I’ve trudged across the desolate fell,
Well knowing that she is of those
Who pay like paupers.

BRAND.

May God bless
Your skill and your unweariedness!
Ease, if you can, her bitter throes.

THE DOCTOR.

Bless my goodwill! I tarried not
A moment when I heard her state.

BRAND.

You she has summon’d: I’m forgot,—
And sick at heart, I wait, I wait.

THE DOCTOR.

Come without summons!

BRAND.

Till she calls,
I have no place within those walls.

THE DOCTOR.
[_To_ AGNES.]

You hapless blossom, laid within
The pitiless grasp of such a lord!

BRAND.

I am not pitiless.

AGNES.

He had pour’d
His blood, to wash her soul from sin.

BRAND.

Unask’d, upon myself I took
The clearance of her debit-book.

THE DOCTOR.

Clear off your own!

BRAND.

_One_ man may get
Hundreds acquitted, in God’s eyes.

THE DOCTOR.

Ay; not a Beggar though, who lies
Himself o’er head and ears in debt.

BRAND.

Beggar or rich,—with all my soul
I _will_;—and that one thing’s the _whole_

THE DOCTOR.

Yes, in your ledger, truly, Will
Has enough entries and to spare:
But, priest, your _Love_-account is still
A virgin-chapter, blank and bare.
[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Follows him awhile with his eyes._]

Never did word so sorely prove
The smirch of lies, as this word _Love_:
With devilish craft, where will is frail,
Men lay _Love_ over, as a veil,
And cunningly conceal thereby
That all their life is coquetry.
Whose path’s the steep and perilous slope,
Let him but _love_,—and he may shirk it;
If he prefer Sin’s easy circuit,
Let him but _love_,—he still may hope;
If God he seeks, but fears the fray,
Let him but _love_,—’tis straight his prey;
If with wide-open eyes he err,
Let him but _love_,—there’s safety there!

AGNES.

Yes, it is false: yet still I fall
Questioning: Is it, after all?

BRAND.

_One_ point’s omitted: First the Will
Law’s thirst for righteousness must still.
You must _first_ will! Not only things
Attainable, in more or less,
Nor only where the action brings
Some hardship and some weariness;
No, you must will with flashing eyes
Your way through all earth’s agonies.
It is not martyrdom to toss
In anguish on the deadly cross:
But to have _will’d_ to perish so,
To _will_ it through each bodily throe,
To will it with still-tortured mind,
This, only this, redeems mankind.

AGNES.
[_Clinging closely to him._]

If at the terrible call I cower,
Speak, strong-soul’d husband, in that hour!

BRAND.

If Will has conquer’d in that strife,
_Then_ comes at length the hour of Love;
Then it descends like a white dove,
Bearing the olive-leaf of life:
But in this nerveless, slothful state,
The true, the sovereign Love is—Hate!
[_In horror._]
Hate! Hate! O Titan’s toil, to will
That one brief easy syllable!

[_Goes hurriedly into the house._

AGNES.
[_Looking through the open door._]

He kneels beside his little son,
And heaves as if with bursts of tears;
He clutches close the bed, like one
That knows no refuge from his fears.—
O what a wealth of tender ruth
Lies hidden in this breast of steel!
Alf he _dares_ love: the baby-heel
Has not yet felt Earth’s serpent-tooth.
[_Cries out in terror._]
Ha! he leaps up with ashy brow!
Wringing his hands! what sees he now.

BRAND.
[_Coming out._]

A summons came?

AGNES.

No summons, no.

BRAND.
[_Looking back into the house._]

His parch’d skin burns in fever-glow;
His temples throb, his pulses race——!
Oh fear not, Agnes!

AGNES.

God of grace——

BRAND.

Nay, have no fear——
[_Calls out over the road._]
The summons, see.

A MAN.
[_Through the garden-gate._]

You must come _now_, priest!

BRAND.

Instantly!
What message?

THE MAN.

A mysterious one.
Sitting in bed she forward bent,
And said: “Get the priest here: begone!
My half-goods for the sacrament.”

BRAND.
[_Starts back._]

Her _half_-goods! No! Say no!

THE MAN.
[_Shakes his head._]

My word
Would then not utter what I heard.

BRAND.

_Half! Half!_ It was the _whole_ she meant!

THE MAN.

Maybe; but she spoke loud and high;
And I don’t easily forget.

BRAND.
[_Seizes his arm._]

Before God’s Judgment, will you yet
Dare to attest she spoke it?

THE MAN.

Ay.

BRAND.
[_Firmly._]

Go, tell her, this reply was sent:
“Nor priest shall come, nor sacrament.”

THE MAN.
[_Looking at him doubtfully._]

You surely have not understood
It is your Mother that appeals.

BRAND.

I know no law that sternlier deals
With strangers than with kindred blood.

THE MAN.

A hard word, that.

BRAND.

She knows the call,—
To offer _Nothing_, or else all.

THE MAN.

Priest!

BRAND.

Dock the gold-calf as she will,
Say, it remains an idol still.

THE MAN.

The scourge you send her I will lay
As gently on her as I may.
She has this comfort left her, too:
God is not quite so hard as you!
[_Goes._

BRAND.

Yes, with that comfort’s carrion-breath
The world still sickens unto death;
Prompt, in its need, with shriek and song
To lubricate the Judge’s tongue.
Of course! The reasonable plan!
For from of old they know their man;—
Since all his works the assurance breathe:
“Yon gray-beard may be haggled with!”

[_THE MAN has met another man on the road; they come
back together._

BRAND.

A second message!

FIRST MAN.

Yes.

BRAND.
[_To the SECOND MAN._]

Consent!

SECOND MAN.

Nine-tenths of it is now the word.

BRAND.

Not _all_?

SECOND MAN.

Not all.

BRAND.

As you have heard:—
Nor priest shall come, nor sacrament.

SECOND MAN.

She begg’d it, bitterly distress’d——

FIRST MAN.

Priest, once she bore you on her breast.

BRAND.
[_Clenching his hands._]

I may not by two measures weigh
My kinsman and my enemy.

SECOND MAN.

Sore is her state and dire her need;
Come, or else send her a God-speed.

BRAND.
[_To_ FIRST MAN.]

Go; tell her still: God’s wine and bread
Must on a spotless board be spread.

[_The Men go._

AGNES.

I tremble Brand. You seem a Sword
Swung flaming by a wrathful Lord!

BRAND.
[_With tears in his voice._]

Does not the world face me no less
With swordless sheath upon its thigh?
Am I not torn and baffled by
Its dull defiant stubbornness?

AGNES.

A hard condition you demand.

BRAND.

Dare you impose a lighter?

AGNES.

Lay
That stern demand on whom you may,
And see who, tested so, will stand.

BRAND.

Nay, you have reason for that fear.
So base, distorted, barren, sere,
The aspiring soul in men is grown.
’Tis thought a marvel,—by bequest
To give away one’s wealth unknown.
And be anonymously bless’d.
The hero, bid him blot his name,
Content him with the service wrought,
Kings, Kaisers, bid him do the same—
And see how many fields are fought!
The poet, bid him unbeholden
Loose his bright fledglings from the cage,
So that none dream he gave that golden
Plumage, and he that vocal rage;
Try the green bough, or try the bare,
_Sacrifice_ is not anywhere.
Earth has enslaved all earthly things;—
Over Life’s precipices cast,
Each to its mouldering branches clings,
And, if they crumble, clutches fast
With tooth and nail to straws and bast

AGNES.

And, while they helpless, hopeless fall,
You cry: Give _nothing_ or give all!

BRAND.

He who would conquer still must fight,
Rise, fallen to the highest height.
[_A brief silence: his voice changes._]
And yet, when with that stern demand
Before some living soul I stand,
I seem like one that floats afar
Storm-shatter’d on a broken spar.
With solitary anguish wrung
I’ve bitten this chastising tongue,
And thirsted, as I aim’d the blow,
To clasp the bosom of my foe.
Go, Agnes, watch the sleeping boy.
And sing him into dreams of joy.
An infant’s soul is like the sleep
Of still clear tarns in summer-light.
A mother over it may sweep
And hover, like the bird, whose flight
Is mirror’d in the deepest deep.

AGNES.

What does it mean, Brand? Wheresoe’er
You aim your thought-shafts—they fly _there_!

BRAND.

Oh, nothing. Softly watch the child.

AGNES.

Give me a watchword.

BRAND.

Stern?

AGNES.

No, mild.

BRAND.
[_Clasping her._]

The blameless shall not taste the grave.

AGNES.
[_Looking brightly up at him._]

Then _one_ is ours God may not crave!

[_Goes into the house._

BRAND.
[_Looking fixedly before him._]

But if he _might_? What “Isaac’s Fear”
Once ventured, He may venture here.
[_Shakes off the thought._]
No, no, my sacrifice is made,
The calling of my life gainsaid—
Like the Lord’s thunder to go forth
And rouse the sleepers of the earth.
Sacrifice! Liar! there was none!
I miss’d it when my Dream was done,
When Agnes woke me—and follow’d free
To labour in the gloom with me.
[_Looks along the road._]
Why tarries still the dying call,
Her word, that she will offer all,
That she has won that which uproots
Sin’s deepest fibres, rankest shoots!
See there——! No, it is but the Mayor,
Well-meaning, brisk, and debonnaire,
Both hands in pockets, round, remiss,
A bracketed parenthesis.

_Enter MAYOR._

THE MAYOR.
[_Through the garden gate._]

Good-day! Our meetings are but rare,
Perhaps my time is chosen amiss——

BRAND.
[_Pointing to house._]

Come in.

THE MAYOR.

Thanks; here I’m quite content.
Should my proposal meet assent,
I’m very sure the upshot of it
Would issue in our common profit.

BRAND.

Name your desire.

THE MAYOR.

Your mother’s state,
I understand, is desperate.
I’m sorry.

BRAND.

That I do not doubt.

THE MAYOR.

I’m _very_ sorry.

BRAND.

Pray, speak out.

THE MAYOR.

She’s old, however. Welladay,
We are all bound the selfsame way—
And, as I just drove by, occurr’d
The thought that, after all, “to leap
Is just as easy as to creep”:
Moreover, many have averr’d,
That she and you have been imbrued
For years in a domestic feud——

BRAND.

Domestic feud?

THE MAYOR.

She’s out and out
Close-fisted, so they say, you know.
You think it goes too far, no doubt.
A man’s own claims he can’t forego.
She keeps exclusive occupation
Of all that was bequeath’d to you.

BRAND.

Exclusive occupation, true.

THE MAYOR.

A ready cause of irritation
In families. Surmising thence
That you await with resignation
The moment of her going hence,
I hope I may without offence
Speak out, although I quite admit
The time I’ve chosen is unfit.

BRAND.

Or now or later, nought I care.

THE MAYOR.

Well, to the point then, fair and square.
When once your mother’s dead and blest,
In the earth’s bosom laid to rest,
You’re _rich_!

BRAND.

You think so?

THE MAYOR.

Think? Nay, man,
That’s sure. She’s land in every port,
Far as a telescope can scan.
You’re rich!

BRAND.

’Spite the Succession Court?

THE MAYOR.
[_Smiling._]

What of it? That cuts matters short
When many fight for pelf and debt.
Here no man’s interest suffers let.

BRAND.

And what if some day, all the same,
Came a coheir to debt and pelf
Crying: “I’m he!” and urged his claim?

THE MAYOR.

He’d have to be the devil himself!
Just look to me! None else has here
The smallest right to interfere.
I know my business: lean on me!
Well, then; you’ll now be well-to-do,
Rich even; you’ll no longer brook
Life in this God-forsaken nook;
The whole land’s open now to you.

BRAND.

Mayor, is not what you want to say,
Pithily put, just: “Go _away_”?

THE MAYOR.

Pretty much that. All parties’ good
Were so best answered. If you would
But eye attentively the herd
To whom you minister God’s word,
You’d find you’re no more of a piece
With them than foxes are with geese.
Pray, understand me! You have gifts,
Good where the social field is wide,
But dangerous for folk whose pride
Is to be Lords of rocky rifts
And Freemen of the ravine-side.

BRAND.

To a man’s feet his native haunt
Is as unto the tree the root.
If there his labour fill no want
His deeds are doomed, his music mute.

THE MAYOR.

Success means just: Self-adaptation
To the requirements of the nation.

BRAND.

Which from the heights you best o’erlook,
Not from the crag-encompass’d nook.

THE MAYOR.

That talk is fit for citizens,
Not for poor peasants of the glens.

BRAND.

O, still your limitation vain
Between the mountain and the plain!
World-citizens you’d be of right,
While every civic claim you slight;
And think, like dastards, to go free
By whining: “We’re a small folk, we!”

THE MAYOR.

All has its time, each time its need,
Each age its proper work to do;
We also flung our mite into
The world’s great treasure of bold deed.
True, that’s long since; but, after all,
The mite was not so very small.
Now the land’s dwindled and decay’d,
But our renown still lives in story.
The days of our reported glory
Were when the great King Belë sway’d.
Many a tale is still related
About the brothers Wulf and Thor,
And gallant fellows by the score,
Went harrying to the British shore,
And plunder’d till their heart was sated.
The Southrons shriek’d with quivering lip,
“Lord, help us from these fierce men’s grip,”
And these “fierce men,” beyond all doubt,
Had from our harbours sallied out.
And how these rovers wreak’d their ire,
And dealt out death with sword and fire!
Nay, legend names a lion-hearted
Hero that took the cross; in verity,
It is not mentioned that he started——

BRAND.

He left behind a large posterity,
This promise-maker?

THE MAYOR.

Yes, indeed;
But how came you to——?

BRAND.

O, I read
His features clearly in the breed
Of promise-heroes of to-day,
Who take the Cross in just his way.

THE MAYOR.

Yes, his descendants still remain.
But we were on King Belë’s reign!
So first abroad we battled. Then,
Visited our own countrymen
And kinsmen, with the axe and fire;
Trampled their harvests gaily down,
Scorch’d mansion-wall and village spire,
And wove ourselves the hero’s crown.—
Over the blood thus set a-flowing
There’s been perhaps excessive crowing;
But, after what I’ve said, I may,
I think, without a touch of vanity,
Point backward to the stir we made
In the great Age long since decay’d,
And hold that we indeed have paid
Our little mite of Fire and Fray
Towards the Progress of Humanity.

BRAND.

Yet do you not, in fact, eschew
The phrase, “Nobility’s a trust,”—
And drive hoe, plough, and harrow through
King Belë’s patrimonial dust?

THE MAYOR.

By no means. Only go and mark
Our parish on its gaudy-nights,
Where I with Constable and Clerk,
And Judge, preside as leading lights;
You’ll warrant, when the punch goes round,
King Belë’s memory is sound.
With toasts and clinking cups and song,
In speeches short and speeches long,
We drink his health and sound his fame.
I myself often feel inclined
The spinnings of my brain to wind
In flowery woof about his name,
And edify the local mind.
A little poetry pleases me,
And all our folks, in their degree;
But—moderation everywhere!
In _life_ it never must have share,—
Except at night, when folks have leisure,
Between the hours of seven and ten,
When baths of elevating pleasure
May fit the mood of weary men.
Here’s where we differ, you and we,
That you desire with main and might
At the same time to _plough_ and _fight_.
Your scheme, as far as I can see,
Is: Life and Faith in unity,—
God’s warfare and potato-dressing
Inseparably coalescing,
As coal, salt, sulphur, fusing fast,
Evolve just gunpowder at last.

BRAND.

Somewhat so.

THE MAYOR.

Here you’ll scheme in vain!
Out in the great world that may stand;—
Go thither with your big demand,
And let us plough our moors and main.

BRAND.

Plough first your brag of old renown
Into the main, and plough it down!
The pigmy is not more the man
For being of Goliath’s clan.

THE MAYOR.

Great memories bear the seed of growth.

BRAND.

Yes, _memories_ that to _life_ are bound;
But you, of memory’s empty mound,
Have made a stalking-horse for sloth.

THE MAYOR.

I said at first, and still I say:—
To leave us were the wisest way.
Your work here cannot come to good,
Nor your ideas be understood.
The little flights to purer air,
The lifting-up which, now and then,
Is doubtless well for working men,
Shall be my unremitting care.
Many agreeable facts declare
My ceaseless energy as mayor,—
Through me the population’s grown
Double, nay, almost three to one,
Since for the district I have bred
Ever new ways of getting fed.
With stubborn nature still at strife
We’ve steam’d ahead: our forward march
Here hew’d a road, there flung an arch—
To lead from——

BRAND.

Not from Faith to Life.

THE MAYOR.

To lead from fjordside to the hill.

BRAND.

But not from Doctrine unto Will.

THE MAYOR.

First of all, get a passage clear
From men to men, from place to place.
There were no two opinions here
On that, until you show’d your face.
Now you’ve made all confusion, dashing
Aurora-flames with lantern light;
With such cross-luminaries flashing,
Who can distinguish wrong from right,
Tell what will mar, and what will mend?
All diverse things you mix and blend,
And into hostile camps divide
Those who should triumph side by side.

BRAND.

Here, notwithstanding, I abide.
Man chooses not his labour’s sphere.
Who knows and follows out his call,
Has seen God’s writing on the wall,
In words of fire, “Your place is here!”

THE MAYOR.

Stay, then, but keep within your borders;
You’re free to purge the folk of crimes,
Vices, and other rifle disorders;
God knows, it’s needed oftentimes!
But don’t make every working-day
A Sabbath, and your flag display,
As if the Almighty were on board
Of every skiff that skims the fjord.

BRAND.

To use your counsel, I must change
My soul and all her vision’s range;
But we are called, _ourselves_ to be,
Our own cause bear to victory;
And I will bear it, till the land
Is all illumined where I stand!
The people, your bureaucrat-crew
Have lull’d asleep, shall wake anew;
Too long you’ve cramp’d and caged apart
These remnants of the Mountain heart;
Out of your niggard hunger-cure
They pass dejected, dull, demure:
Their best, their bravest blood you tap,
Scoop out their marrow and their sap,
Pound into splinters every soul,
That should have stood a welded whole;—
But you may live to hear the roar
Of revolution thunder: _War!_

THE MAYOR.

War?

BRAND.

War!

THE MAYOR.

Be sure, if you should call
To arms, you’ll be the first to fall.

BRAND.

The day will come when we shall know
That triumph’s height is Overthrow.

THE MAYOR.

Consider, Brand, you have to choose!
Don’t stake your fortune on one card.

BRAND.

I do, however!

THE MAYOR.

If you lose,
Your life’s irreparably marr’d.
All this world’s bounties you possess,
You, a rich Mother’s only heir,
With wife and child to be your care,—
It was a kindly hand, confess,
That dealt _your_ terms of happiness!

BRAND.

And what if I should, all the same,
Reject these terms? and _must_?

THE MAYOR.

Your game
Is over, if you’ve once unfurl’d
In this last cranny of the world
The standard of your world-wide war.
Turn southward, to yon prosperous shore
Where a man dares lift up his head;
There you may perorate of right
And bid them bleed and bid them fight;
_Our_ bloodshed is the sweat we pour
In daily wringing rocks for bread.

BRAND.

Here I remain. My home is here!
And here the battle-flag I’ll rear.

THE MAYOR.

Think what you lose, if overthrown,
And, chiefly, think of what you quit!

BRAND.

Myself I lose, if I submit.

THE MAYOR.

Hopeless is he that fights alone.

BRAND.

The _best_ are with me.

THE MAYOR.
[_Smiling._]

That may be,
But they’re the _most_, who follow _me_.

[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Looking after him._]

A people’s champion, thorough-bred!
Active, with fair and open hand,
Honest of heart and sound of head,
But yet a scourge upon the land!
No avalanche, no winter-blast,
No flood, nor frost, nor famine-fast
Leaves half the ruin in its rear
That such a man does, year by year.
Life only by a plague is reft;
But he——! How many a thought is cleft,
How many an eager will made numb,
How many a valiant song struck dumb
By such a narrow soul as this!
What smiles on simple faces breaking,
What fires in _lowly_ bosoms waking,
What pangs of joy and anger, seed
That might have ripened into deed,
Die by that bloodless blade of his!

[_Suddenly, in anxiety._]

But O the summons! the summons—No!
It is the Doctor!

_Enter_ DOCTOR.
[_Hurries to meet him._]

Say! say! How——?

THE DOCTOR.

She stands before her Maker now.

BRAND.

Dead!—But repentant?

THE DOCTOR.

Scarcely so;
She hugg’d Earth’s goods with all her heart
Till the Hour struck, and they must part.

BRAND.
[_Looking straight before him in deep emotion._]

Is here an erring soul undone?

THE DOCTOR.

She will be mildly judged, maybe;—
And Law temper’d with equity,

BRAND.
[_In a low tone._]

What said she?

THE DOCTOR.

Low she mutter’d: _He_
Is no hard dealer, like my son.