Signe Monologue from The feast at Solhoug

From The feast at Solhoug by Henrik Ibsen

female · contemplative · 1:09 min

Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he. (MARGIT: Have you seen him?) Oh, no, no; but I must tell you-- (MARGIT: Yes, haste you--tell on!) 'Twas early morn, and the church bells rang, To Mass I was fain to ride; The birds in the willows twittered and sang, In the birch-groves far and wide. All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day; And from church it had well-nigh stayed me; For still, as I rode down the shady way, Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me. Silently into the church I stole; The priest at the altar was bending; He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul, The folk to God's word were attending. Then a voice rang out o'er the fiord so blue; And the carven angels, the whole church through, Turned round, methought, to listen thereto.

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