Chapter IV: Part 4

THE WOMAN.
[_Looking at the child’s clothes, calls to AGNES._]

Thou rich mother, share with me!

AGNES.

Thou art richer far!

THE WOMAN.

I see,
Thou art of the common breed,
Cramm’d with words, and void of deed.

BRAND.
[_Approaching her._]

Tell me what thou seekest.

THE WOMAN.

_Thee_,
Troth, I do not seek, at least!
Rather to the wind and rain
Will I hurry out again,
Than be sermon’d by a priest;
Rather to the wild sea fly,
Drown and rot beneath the sky,
Than I’ll hear the black man tell
How I’m on my way to hell;
Can I help—the devil take me—
Being what God chose to make me?

BRAND.
[_To himself._]

Voice and feature pierce me still
With a dim and icy dread.

AGNES.

Thou shalt warm thee, if thou’rt chill;
And thy hungry child be fed.

THE WOMAN.

Where there’s warmth and where there’s light
Brats of gipsies may not stay;
We must haunt the lone highway,
Hill and forest, heath and height;
We must wander, we must roam,
Leave to others house and home.
I must swiftly from this place.
Dogs of justice are behind me,
Mayor, bailiff, all in chase,
Hungering to catch and bind me!

BRAND.

Here thou shalt have shelter.

THE WOMAN.

Here!
Roof’d above and wall’d about?
No! The winter night is clear,
And the breezes blithe without.
But a rag to wrap the child!
That were something! Sooth, its wild
Rascal brother fled, and bore
With him all the clouts it wore.
Look, it lies half naked—blue,
Stiff and stark and frozen through,
By the storm-wind’s icy breath.

BRAND.

Woman, on the road to death,
Free thy infant from thy doom;
Free him from thy grief and gloom
Of his birth I’ll blot the brand.

THE WOMAN.

Much, sooth, _thou_ dost understand!
Such a wonder none on earth
Can, nor shall do, though he can!
War on you that set the ban,—
Wot ye where it was, that birth?
In a ditch-side, on the ground,
Gamblers drank and shouted round—
Christen’d in the sleety slime,
Cross’d with charcoal-ashes’ grime,
Suckled with a spirit-flask;—
When his mother bore him first
There were some stood by and cursed,
Who could they be, do you ask?
Bless you! Why, the baby’s father,
Or,—the baby’s fathers rather!

BRAND.

Agnes?

AGNES.

Yes.

BRAND.

Thy duty’s clear.

AGNES.
[_Shuddering._]

Never! never! Brand, to her!

THE WOMAN.

Give me, give me! Give me all!
Silk and broider’d jacket small!
Nought’s too good, and nought too bad,
If ’twill warm my starving lad.
He’ll be going by-and-by.
Thaw his body ere he die!

BRAND.
[_To AGNES._]

Choice is calling! Hear’st thou now?

THE WOMAN.

Store enough of clothes hast thou
For thy dead child: hast thou none
For my death-doom’d living one?

BRAND.

Is not this a warning cry
Importuning bodefully?

THE WOMAN.

Give!

AGNES.

’Tis sacrilege blood-red
Desecration of the dead!

BRAND.

Vainly given to death he was
If thou at the threshold pause.

AGNES.
[_Crushed._]

I obey. My heart’s quick root
I will trample under foot.
Woman, come thou and receive,
I will share it with thee.

THE WOMAN.

Give!

BRAND.

_Share_ it, say’st thou?—Agnes; _share_ it?

AGNES.
[_Wildly._]

I will rather die than spare it
All! See, inch by inch I’ve bent
To thy will; my force is spent!
Half’s enough; she needs no more!

BRAND.

Was the whole too much before,
When for _thy_ child it was meant?

AGNES.
[_Gives._]

Woman, take; in this was clad
At the font my little lad.
Here the scarf, cloak, mantle, good
For the night-air, here the hood
Warm for winter; take this last——

THE WOMAN.

Give me!

BRAND.

Is this all thou hast?

AGNES.
[_Gives again._]

Take the crowning vesture worn,
By the child to Death’s Font.

THE WOMAN.

So! I see there’s nothing more.
I’ll clear out without delay,
Dress my baby at the door—
Then with all my pack away!
[_Goes._

AGNES.
[_In violent inner conflict; at length asks._]

Is it reason, Brand, to lay
Further bidding on me?

BRAND.

Say,
Didst thou with a glad heart go
To thy task of giving?

AGNES.

No.

BRAND.

Then thy gift is vainly will’d
And His bidding unfulfill’d.
[_Going._

AGNES.
[_Remains silent until he is near the door, then calls._]

Brand!

BRAND.

What wilt thou?

AGNES.

I have lied—
See, I’m humbled, I am grieved.
Never knew’st thou nor believed,
Anything was left beside.

BRAND.

Well?

AGNES.
[_Takes a folded child’s cap from her bosom._]

See, _one_ I thought to hide—
One!

BRAND.

The _cap_?

AGNES.

Yes, tear-bewet,
Clammy with his mortal sweat,
There in my beating bosom set!

BRAND.

In thy idol-bonds abide.
[_Going._

AGNES.

Hold!

BRAND.

What wilt thou?

AGNES.

Thou dost know.
[_Holds out the cap to him._

BRAND.
[_Approaches and asks, without taking it._]

Gladly given?

AGNES.

Gladly!

BRAND.

So.
At the door she lingers yet.
[_Goes._

AGNES.

Shiver’d, shatter’d—pluck’d away—
All that bound me to the clay.

[_Stands a while motionless; by degrees her face
assumes an expression of radiant gladness. BRAND
returns; she flies joyously towards him, flings
herself about his neck, and cries._]

I am free, Brand, I am free!

BRAND.

Agnes!

AGNES.

Night is fled from me!
All the terrors that oppress’d
Like an incubus my breast,
In the gulf are sunk to rest!
Will hath conquer’d in the fray,
Cloud and mist are swept away;
Through the night, athwart the Dead,
Streaks of morning glimmer red.
Graveyard! Graveyard! By the word
Now no more a tear is stirr’d;
By the name no wound is riven,
Risen is the child to heaven!

BRAND.

Agnes! Thou hast conquered now.

AGNES.

I indeed have conquer’d. Yes;
Conquer’d death and bitterness!
Oh, look up, look heavenward, thou
See, before the throne he stands—
As in old days—radiant, glad,
To us stretching down his hands!
Though a thousand mouths I had,
Leave to ask, and to obtain,
Never one of them should pray
For his coming back again.
O how wond’rous is God’s way!
By that sacrifice, so grievous,
Won from bondage is my soul;
He was given us but to leave us,
Died to lure me to the goal.
Thanks be to thee that thy hand
Stoutly strove and firmly led—
Ah, I saw thine own heart bled.
Now it is for _thee_, instead,
In the vale of choice to stand,
Now for _thee_ to hear the call
Of the awful _Nought_ or _All_.

BRAND.

Agnes, this is darkly said;—
Vanquish’d, lo, our sorrow lies!

AGNES.

Thou forget’st the word of dread:
_Whoso sees Jehovah dies!_

BRAND.
[_Starts back._]

Woe upon me! What a light
Thou has kindled! Never! No!
I have stalwart hands for fight,
And I will not let thee go!
Tear all earthly ties from me,
All possessions I will lose,
Only never, never thee!

AGNES.

At the cross-way stand’st thou: choose!
Quench the kindled light I brought,
Fence the fountain of my thought,
Give me back my idol treasures
(Still she lingers by the door),
Give me back the earthly pleasures
Of the bright, blind days of yore;
Thrust me back into the pit
Where till now I lulled my sin,
Deeper, deeper thrust me in—
Thou canst lightly compass it;
Clip my wings and check my flight,
Load my feet, and drag me bound
Down, down from thy dizzy height
To my lowly native ground;
Let me lead the life I led
When the darkness yet was dread:
If thou darest thus to lose,
Then, as ever, I am thine;
At the cross-way stand’st thou: choose!

BRAND.

Woe, if such a choice were mine.
Ah, but in some place afar,
Where no bitter memories are,
Death and darkness thou shalt brave!

AGNES.

Hast thou _here_ thy work forgotten,
Holy work—and holy grave?
And the thousands sin-besotten,
It is _here_ thy task to save—
Those thou guidest for God’s sake
To the Fountain that renews?
At the cross-way stand’st thou: choose!

BRAND.

Then I have no choice to make.

AGNES.
[_Throws herself on his neck._]

Thanks for that, and thanks for all!
Thou the weary one hast led;
Over me the dank mists fall,
Thou wilt watch beside my bed.

BRAND.

Sleep! thy day’s work now is done.

AGNES.

Done, and now the lamp alight.
I have fought out all my might,
I am weary of the sun.
Oh, but praising God is best!
Brand, good-night!

BRAND.

Good-night!

AGNES.

Good-night.
Thanks for all. Now I will rest.
[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Clenches his hands against his breast._]

Soul, be patient in thy pain!
Triumph in its bitter cost.
All to lose was all to gain;
Nought abideth but the Lost!

ACT FIFTH.

_A year and a half later. The new Church stands complete,
and adorned for consecration. The river runs close
beside it. A misty morning, early._

_The SEXTON is busy hanging garlands outside the Church;
shortly after comes the SCHOOLMASTER._

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

At work already?

THE SEXTON.

None too soon.
Lend me a hand; I must festoon
The path, to keep the march in trim.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Before the Manse I see ascending
Something that rears a rounded rim—

THE SEXTON.

Ay, surely, surely!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

What is pending?

THE SEXTON.

Why, it is what they call a shield
With Parson’s name in a gold field.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

To-day the valley’s in high feather.
From far and wide they’re flocking hither,
The fjord with sails is all agleam.

THE SEXTON.

Yes; they’ve awaken’d from their dream.
In the late Pastor’s day, no breast
With bitterness and strife was cumber’d,
Each slumber’d as his neighbour slumber’d,
—I’m not quite certain which is best.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Life, Sexton, life!

THE SEXTON.

Yet you and I
Pass this “life” unregarding by;
How comes it?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Why, before, the folk
Slumber’d, and nowise toil’d, as we did;
We fell asleep when they awoke,
Because we were no longer needed.

THE SEXTON.

But yet you said that life was best?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

By Dean and deacon that’s profess’d.
And I too say so, like the rest,—
Provided, mind, the “life” in view
Is that of the great Residue.
But we two serve another law
Than that which holds the mass in awe;
Set by the State to guard and guide,—
Look, we must stand against the tide,
Cherish the Church and Education,
And keep aloof from agitation.
Briefly, in nothing take a side.

THE SEXTON.

But Parson’s in it, heart and soul.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

And just in that forgets his rôle.
His own superiors, well I know,
Look with displeasure on his action,
And, dared they but offend his faction,
Had thrown him over long ago.
But he is fine; he smells a rat;
He’s got a recipe for that.
He builds the Church. Here you may glue
All eyes up, if you will but _do_.
_What’s_ done none has a thought to spare for;
The _doing_ of it’s all they care for.
So they who follow, and we who lead,
All equally are men of deed.

THE SEXTON.

Well, you have sat in the great Thing,
And ought to know the Land and Folk;
But one who travell’d through the glen
A little after we awoke
Said, we’d been sleeping folks till then,
But, having waked,—were _promising_.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Yes; we’re a promising folk, of course,—
And mighty promises we’re giving,—
So fast we stride, we’ll soon be living
Elucidations of their force.

THE SEXTON.

One thing I’ve ponder’d many a day;
You’ve studied,—what do folks intend
By that same “People’s Promise,” pray?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

A People’s Promise, my good friend?
That were a long investigation;
But ’tis a thing that is pursued
By force of sheer anticipation;
A grand Idea they must make good
In _future_, be it understood.

THE SEXTON.

Thanks; I see that at any rate;
But there’s another point I’d fain
Beg of you briefly to explain.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Speak freely.

THE SEXTON.

Tell me, at what date
Comes, what is call’d the future?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Why,
It never does come!

THE SEXTON.

Never!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

No,
And only follows Nature so.
For when it comes, you see, ’tis grown
The Present, and the Future’s flown.

THE SEXTON.

Why, yes, to that there’s no reply;
That logic one must needs accept.
But—when then is the promise kept?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

A Promise is a future-dated
Pact, as I have already stated;
’Tis kept in Future.

THE SEXTON.

That is clear.
When will the Future, though, be here!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_Aside._]

You blessed Sexton!
[_Aloud._]
Worthy friend,
Must I the argument recall?
The Future cannot come at all,
Because its coming is its end.

THE SEXTON

Thank you.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

In all conceptions lies
Something that looks like artifice,
But yet is quite direct and plain,—
That is to say, for any brain
Able to reckon up to ten.
To make a promise means, at last,
To _break_ it, spite of best intent;
Truth to one’s word has always pass’d
For hard; but you may just as well
Prove it purely impossible,—
If you’ve an eye for argument.—
There, let this Promise-question be!
Come tell me——!

THE SEXTON.

Hist!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

What is it?

THE SEXTON.

Hark!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

I hear the organ play!

THE SEXTON.

’Tis he.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

The Pastor?

THE SEXTON.

Even so.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Save the mark
But he is out betimes!

THE SEXTON.

I guess
He stirr’d no pillow yesternight.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

What do you say?

THE SEXTON.

All is not right.
He’s felt the pang of loneliness
Since first his widowhood began.
He hides his sorrow all he can;
But, whiles, it may not be controll’d;
His heart’s a jar that will not hold,
And overflows by base and brim;—
So then he plays. ’Tis like a wild
Weeping for buried wife and child.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

It is as if they talk’d with him——

THE SEXTON.

As if _one_ suffered, _one_ consoled——

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

H’m—if one dared to be affected!

THE SEXTON.

Ah,—if one did not serve the State

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Ah,—if one bore no leaden weight
Of forms that have to be respected

THE SEXTON.

Ah,—if one dared toss tape and seal
And ledger to the deuce for ever!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

And leave off striving to be clever;
And, Sexton, if one dared to _feel_!

THE SEXTON.

No one is near,—let’s feel, my friend!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

We cannot fitly condescend
To smirch ourselves in human slime.
Let no man, says the Parson, dare
To be two things at the same time;
And, with the best will, no one can
Be an official and a man;
Our part in all things is, to swear
By our great exemplar—the Mayor.

THE SEXTON.

Why just by him?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Do you recall
The fire that wreck’d his house, and yet
The deeds were rescued, one and all?

THE SEXTON.

It was an evening——

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Wild and wet,
And like ten toiling men toiled he;
But indoors stood the Devil in glee
Guffawing, and his wife shriek’d out:
“O save your soul, sweet husband! See,
Satan will have you!” Then a shout
Rang backward through the surging vapours:
“My soul may go to hell for me;
Just lend a hand to save the papers!”
Look, that’s a Mayor—without, within!
From top to toe, from core to skin;
He’ll win his way, I’m certain, yonder,
Where his life’s toil shall have its price.

THE SEXTON.

And where may that be?

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Where, I wonder,
But in the good Mayors’ Paradise.

THE SEXTON.

My learned friend!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

What now?

THE SEXTON.

A token
Of our fermenting age I hear,
Methinks, in every word you’ve spoken;
For that it _does_ ferment is clear.
Witness the reverence all refuse
To old-established Wont and Use.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

What moulders, in the mould’s its doom,
What rots must nourish what is fresh;
Their vitals canker and consume,
Let them cough up the imposthume,
Or to the grave with their dead flesh!
There’s ferment, yes; past fear or hope,
That’s plain without a telescope.
The day our ancient Church lay low,
Everything with it seem’d to go
Wherein our life struck root and found
Its home-soil and its native-ground.

THE SEXTON.

Then on the throng a stillness came.
“Down with it! Down with it!” they cried
At first; but soon that clamour died,
And many felt their ears a-flame,
And stole shy glances of distrust.
When the ancestral House of Prayer
Was to be levell’d—then and there,—
By hands unhallow’d, in the dust.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

But countless bonds, they fancied, knit
Them ever to the ghost of it,
So long as yonder Palace lack’d
The final seal of consecration;
And so in anguish’d expectation
They watch’d it growing into fact,
And blinked before the glorious End,
When the old tatter should descend
And the new colours flaunt the gale.
But ever as the spire upclomb
They grew more silent and more pale,
And now,—well, now the End is come.

THE SEXTON.

Look at the throng. Both young and old
Swarm hither.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

And by thousands told.—
How still they are!

THE SEXTON.

And yet they moan,
Like sea fore-feeling tempest’s fret.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

It is the People’s hearts that groan,
As if, with piercing doubts beset,
The great new age they did forebode,
Or were in solemn sessions met
To nominate another God.
Where, where’s the priest,—I stifle here.
Would heaven that I could disappear!

THE SEXTON.

I too, I too!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

In hours like this
No man well knows how deep he is.
Each depth a deeper depth revealing,
We will, then will not, and then doubt——

THE SEXTON.

My friend!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

My friend!

THE SEXTON.

H’m!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Speak it out!

THE SEXTON.

I think, in very truth, we’re feeling!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Feeling? Not I!

THE SEXTON.

Nor I, take warning!
A single witness I defy!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

We’re men, not school-girls, you and I.
My youngsters wait for me. Good-morning.
[_Goes._

THE SEXTON.

Just now I’d visions like a fool:
Now I’m again collected, cool,
And close as clasps! To work I’ll press!
Here’s no more scope for hand or tool,
And Satan’s couch is idleness.
[_Goes out at the other side._

_The organ, which during what precedes has been heard in an
undertone, suddenly peals forth, and ends with a
discordant shriek. Shortly afterwards BRAND comes
out._

BRAND.

No, I vainly, vainly seek
To unlock the heart of sound;
All the song becomes a shriek.
Walls and arches, vault and ground,
Seem to stoop and crowd and throng,
Seem to clasp with iron force,
Seem to close around the song,
As the coffin round the corse!
Vain my effort, vain my suit,
All the organ’s music’s mute,
Fain a prayer I would have spoken,
But my lifted voice fell broken,—
Like the muffled moan it fell
Of a riven and rusted bell.
’Twas as if the Lord were seated
In the chancel, and beheld,
And in wrath, while I entreated,
All my piteous prayer repell’d!—
Great shall be the House of God;
In my confidence I swore it;
Fearless, smote and wreck’d and tore it,
Swept it level with the sod.
Now the finish’d work stands fast.
As the people throng before it,
Still they cry: “How vast! how vast!”
Is it they see true or I,
Who no vastness can descry?
Is it great? The thing I will’d,
Is it in _this_ House fulfill’d?
Can the rushing fire of passion
That begot it, _here_ be still’d?
Was the Temple of this fashion
That I dream’d should overspan
All the misery of Man?
Ah, had Agnes stay’d with me,
Not thus vainly had I striven!
Small things greatly she could see,
From doubt’s anguish set me free,
Clasp together Earth and Heaven
Like the green roof of the tree.
[_He observes the preparations for the festival._]
All with wreaths and banners hung;
Children practising their song;
So the Manse they surge and throng,—
Festal greetings they would bring me;—
Yonder gleams my name in gold!—
Give me light, O God, or fling me
Fathom-deep beneath this mould!
In an hour begins the Feast
Every thought and every tongue
Will be ringing with “the priest”
All their thoughts I can discern;
All their words I feel them burn;
All their praise, on elf-wings sped,
Rives me like an icy blast!
Oh, to be enfolded fast
In oblivion, hide my head
In a wild beast’s hole at last!

THE MAYOR.

[_Enters in full uniform, radiant with satisfaction,
and greets him._]

Here is the great day come at last,
The Sabbath to the toiling six;
Now we can strike our sail, and fix
Our Sunday pennon to the mast,
Glide softly with the gliding flood
And find that all is very good.
Bravo!—great, noble man, whose fame
Will soon be far and wide related.
Bravo!—I’m moved, yet all the same
Most inexpressibly elated!
But you appear——?

BRAND.

I’m suffocated.

THE MAYOR.

Pooh, a mere momentary whim!
Preach you now, till it roars again!—
Fill the folks’ bushel to the brim.
Not one his wonder can contain,
The resonance is so full and plain.

BRAND.

Indeed?

THE MAYOR.

The Dean himself is warm
In admiration and delight.
And then, what elegance of form,
And what a grandeur, what a height
In every part——

BRAND.

You’ve noted this?

THE MAYOR.

What noted?

BRAND.

It seems great to you?

THE MAYOR.

Why, it not only _seems_, but _is_,
No matter what the point of view.

BRAND.

It is great? Really? That is true—?

THE MAYOR.

Great?—yes, God bless me,—and to spare—
For folks so far to North. Elsewhere
They’ve higher standards, I’m aware.
But among us who captive dwell
Amid drear wastes and barren mounds,
On the scant verge of fjord and fell,
Its greatness ’mazes and confounds.

BRAND.

Yes, that is so, and all we do
Is,—change an old lie for a new.

THE MAYOR.

What?

BRAND.

We have lured their hearts away
From the time-honour’d gloom and mould
To soaring spire and open day.
“How venerable!” they cried of old.
“How vast!” in chorus now they roar—
“The like was never seen before!”

THE MAYOR.

My worthy friend, I needs must hold
His breeding scarcely _quantum suff._
For whom it is not great enough.

BRAND.

But clear it shall be unto all
That, as it stands, the Church is small.
To keep that hidden were to lie.

THE MAYOR.

Nay, listen,—let such whimsies fly!
What can it profit to dispraise
What you yourself have toil’d to raise?
You’ve satisfied their utmost dream;
It seems to them more rich and rare
Than aught they e’er saw anywhere:—
Let it continue so to seem!
Why should we vex their silly sight
With proffers of the flaming link,
When they’re indifferent to light?
The question’s only what they _think_.
It does not signify a jot
Though the Church were a pigeon-cot,
If in the faith they’re rooted fast,
That it is infinitely vast.

BRAND.

In every matter the same thought.

THE MAYOR.

To-day, moreover, we hold fête;
The whole assembly is our guest;
It is a point of etiquette
That everything should look its best;
And for your own sake, most of all,
It were judicious to keep clear
Of that sore fact—that it is small.

BRAND.

How so?

THE MAYOR.

Well, listen, you shall hear.
Firstly, the headmen of the town
Are giving you a piece of plate,
Whose graved inscription is frustrate
If the work’s size is whittled down;
And then the Ode, composed express,
And my inaugural address,—
You leave them helpless in the lurch,
Docking the greatness of the Church.
You see then, you must yield your doubt,
And boldly face the matter out.

BRAND.

I see, what oft has stung my eye,
A lying triumph crown the lie.

THE MAYOR.

But, in God’s name, my worthy friend,
Where do these strong expressions tend?
However, waiving points of taste,
Hear now my second reason,—gold,
As that was silver; for, behold,
You, like a chosen son, are graced
With favour in the royal sight;
In short,—you have been named a Knight!
This very day you’ll walk elate,
Cross upon breast, a titled man.

BRAND.

Another, heavier cross’s weight
I bear; take that from me who can.

THE MAYOR.

What’s this? You do not seem to shake
With agitation at such prize?
You mystery of mysteries!
But pray consider, for God’s sake——

BRAND.
[_Stamping._]

This is mere babble of vain speech:—
Nothing I learn and nothing teach;
You have not grasp’d the smallest shred
Of the true sense of what I said.
I meant not greatness men compute,
And measure by the inch and foot,
But that which, viewless, darts and streams,
Pierces the soul with frosts and fires,
That beckons to impassion’d dreams,
And like the starlit heaven inspires—
That—leave me! I am worn, oppress’d;—
Convince, teach, edify the rest.
[_Goes up towards the Church._

THE MAYOR.
[_To himself._]

In such a labyrinth who can stray
And find an issue? Greatness lay
In something that is “viewless,” “streams,”
“Not inchwise measured,” “lifts to dreams,”
And “starlit heaven”? It went so, surely?
Has he been lunching prematurely?
[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Comes down over the open ground._]

So desolate on the upland drear
I never stood as I stand here;
My impotent questionings evoke
Echoes that cackle and that croak.
[_Looks towards the MAYOR._]
For him, I would my heel might bruise
His head! Each time I make emprise
To loose him from the bond of lies,
With shameless wantonness he spews
His rotten soul before my eyes!—
O Agnes, why wast thou so frail?
Would that this hollow game were done,
Where none give in, and none prevail;—
Yes, hopeless he that fights alone!

THE DEAN.
[_Coming up._]

O, my beloved! O, my sheep—!
Nay, I beg pardon,—would have said
My reverend brother!—cannot keep
My predication from my head;
I got it yesterday by rote,
The taste still lingers in my throat.
Enough of that.—To you I offer
My thanks, whose energy began,
Whose firmness carried through, the plan,
Despite the babbler and the scoffer;
Fell’d that which was about to fall,
And worthily restored it all!

BRAND.

Far from that yet.

THE DEAN.

How say you, friend?
Is Consecration not the end?

BRAND.

A House new-builded asks, as well,
A cleansed Soul, therein to dwell.

THE DEAN.

All that will come without our stir.
So gay, so elegant a roof
Will be an adequate reproof
To every unwash’d worshipper.
And that delightful sounding-board,
That doubles every pious word,
Will render without fail our flocks
Fivescore per cent. more orthodox,
Results so notable as these
The first-rate Nationalities
Themselves, ’tis said, can hardly better.—
For this your Country is your debtor,
Yours only; let me then express
These heartfelt, brotherly thanks of mine,
To be re-echoed, as I guess,
In winged words across the wine,
By many a fiery young divine,
When at the festal board we crown
This the great day of your renown.—
But, my dear Brand, you look so faint—?

BRAND.

My heart and hope have long been spent.

THE DEAN.

No wonder;—with so grave a care,
And all unaided and unfriended.
But now the worst of it is ended,
And all gives promise of a splendid
Day for our function. Don’t despair!
All will go well. Reflect! A throng
Has gather’d, many thousand strong,
From far-off parishes,—and who
Can vie in eloquence with you?
See where your reverend brethren stand,
To welcome you with heart and hand;
While all these lowly bosoms beat
With ardour for you, first to last!
And then, the work, so ably plann’d,
The decoration, so complete,—
The general theme—How great! How vast!
—And the unparallel’d repast!
Into the kitchen I was looking
Just now, and saw the calf a-cooking.
Nay, Brand, a pretty beast, I vow!
You must have had some trouble, now,
In these hard times, before you found
So fine a bit of flesh to cater,
With meat at half a crown a pound!
But that can be deferr’d till later.
I’m on another errand bound.

BRAND.

Speak freely; slash, stab, rive and rend!

THE DEAN.

I have a milder way, my friend.
But briefly; for our duties press.
One little matter, I confess,
I’d have you from to-day set right;
A task that cannot but be light.
Nay, I imagine you can guess
Half what I’m hinting at, at least?
I mean, your duties as a priest.
Hitherto you have been a loose
Observer still, of Wont and Use;
But Use and Wont, if not the best
Of things, are yet the needfulest.
Well, well, I will not be severe;
You’re young, and but a novice here,
Town-bred, and scarcely understand
What country usages demand.
But now, now it is urgent, friend,
The lack of judgment to amend.
You hitherto have too much heeded
What this man and what that man needed;
That error (in your private ear)
Is grievous. Weigh them in the block;
Use the same comb for all the flock;
You won’t repent it, never fear.

BRAND.

Be more explicit.

THE DEAN.

The thing’s clear.
You for the Parish’s behoof
Have built a Church. That is the woof
That robes the spirit of Law and Peace;
For to the State, religion is
The power that lifts and purifies,
The stronghold where its safety lies,
The universal moral measure.
You see, the State is scant of treasure,
And wants full value for its pence.
“Good Christians” means “good citizens.”
Do you suppose it pays its pelf
To be for God and Man a tool,
And bring annoyance on itself?
No, faith, the State is not a fool;
And all our course would run amiss,
Did not the State, by strictest rule,
Look only to the life that is.
But the State’s object, my good friend,
Through its officials must be gain’d,
In this case through its priests——

BRAND.

Each word
Is wisdom! Speak!

THE DEAN.

I’m near the end.
This Church, you see, you have conferr’d
Upon the State, for its sole profit;
And, therefore, all the uses of it
Must to the State’s advantage tend.
This is the meaning, note it well,
Of our forthcoming celebration,
This shall be meant by chiming bell,
And this by Gift-deed’s recitation.
A promise thus the Gift implies,
Whose force I’d have you scrutinise——

BRAND.

By God, I never meant it so!

THE DEAN.

Yes; but it’s now too late, you know——

BRAND.

Too late? Too late! That will be seen!

THE DEAN.

Be sensible! I can’t keep grave!
What is the tragedy therein?
You are not ask’d to promise sin?
Souls do not grow more hard to save
Because the Country profits too;
With due discretion and despatch
Two masters’ bidding you may do;
You were not made a priest, to snatch
Peter or Harry’s single soul
Out of the torments of the lake;
But that the Parish as a whole
Might of the shower of grace partake;
And, the whole Parish saved, it’s clear,
You save every Parishioner.
The State is (what you hardly dream)
Exactly half republican:
Liberty held in strictest ban,
Equality in high esteem.
Yet is Equality never won
But by destroying More and Less,—
And it is that you have not done!
Nay, you have striven to express
And emphasise unlikenesses
That slumber’d hitherto unknown.
Men, mere Church-members till of late,
To Personalities are grown.
That does no service to the State;
And thus it is, each Parish rate,
Each offering to the common good,
Is from unwilling niggards bled;
The Church no longer is the hood
That fits alike on every head.

BRAND.

O, vistas infinite unfold!

THE DEAN.

Don’t be cast down; no gain in that
Though I must own I shudder at
The dire confusion I behold.
But while there’s life there’s hope, and you
Are by this gift baptized anew
To obligations yet more great
Of serving, by your Church, the State.
Men need a rule in all they do;
Or reckless forces, breaking loose,
Like colts undaunted by the curb,
Spurn gates and fences, and disturb
The thousand landmarks of old Use.
Each order’d mode of life proclaims
One Law, that goes by many names.
The Artist calls it School, and I’m
Mistaken if I have not heard
Our soldiers call it keeping time.
Ah yes, friend, that’s the very word!
That’s what the State desires at last!
Double-quick time gets on too fast,
And goose-step lags too far behind;
All men to step alike, and beat
The selfsame music with their feet,
That is the method to its mind!

BRAND.

Kennel the eagle;—and let loose
On empyrean flights the goose!

THE DEAN.

We, thank the Lord, are not as these;—
But if we must use allegory,
We’ll turn to Scripture, if you please.
For every case it has a story,
From Genesis to Revelation
It swarms with stimulating Fable;
I will but hint, in illustration,
At that projected Tower of Babel
How did the good folks prosper, pray?
And why? The answer’s clear as day;
Their ranks divided, sort by sort,
Each one his private language spoke,
They drew not in the common yoke,
Grew “Personalities,” in short.
That’s half the twofold core that lies
Embedded in this shell of fable;—
That all strength, sever’d, is unstable,
And death-doom’d who the world defies.
When God desires a man to fall
He makes him an Original;
The Romans had it, ’faith, that God
Made the man mad; but mad is odd,
And oddness singleness, you know;
Therefore who fights without a friend
Must look to suffer in the end
The fate that overtook the man
Whom David posted in the van.

BRAND.

Yes, very likely: but what though?
In Death I see not Overthrow.
And is your faith quite firm and fast
That had those builders spoken still
One speech, and acted with one will,
They would have piled the pinnacle
Of Babel up to heaven at last?

THE DEAN.

To heaven? No, that is where it lies:
No man gets quite to Paradise.
There, see, we have the second core,
Embedded in this shell of fable;—
That every building is unstable
Which to the starry heaven would soar!

BRAND.

Yet, Jacob’s ladder reach’d that goal.
Thither by longing soars the Soul.

THE DEAN.

In that way! Why, God bless me, yes
Further discussion’s needless there.
Heaven is the wage of faithfulness,
Of course, of moral life and prayer.
But life and faith hold such dissent,
They only thrive, when kept apart;
Six days for toiling hands are meant.
The seventh, for stirring of the heart;
If all the week we preach’d and pray’d,
The Sabbath had in vain been made.
God’s incense, rightly to be used,
Must not be lavishly diffused;
Worship, like Art, was not created
To be in perfume dissipated.
The Ideal you may safely sound
From pulpit’s holy vantage-ground;
But with your surplice lay it by,
When you emerge beneath the sky.
All things, as I have said, are based
On laws that strictly must be traced,
And my sole end in speaking is
To give this fact due emphasis.

BRAND.

One thing I very clearly see:
No State Soul-case is fit for me.

THE MAYOR.

A perfect fit, I will engage,
My friend,—but on a loftier stage:—
You must go up——

BRAND.

Is that an end
I reach by plunging in the mire?

THE DEAN.

Whoso him humbleth shall go higher!
Hooks will not catch, unless they bend.

BRAND.

Man can’t be used, unless he perish!

THE DEAN.

Good God! How can you think I cherish
Any such purpose?

BRAND.

Ay, indeed,
That’s the condition! First to bleed!
Your bloodless spirit to put on
Man must be first a skeleton!

THE DEAN.

I would not put the lancet through
A very kitten—far less you;
But yet I thought no harm were done
In leaving just ajar the door
That opens, where I went before.

BRAND.

And do you know what you have sought?
This, that upon the State’s cock-cry
I that Ideal should deny
For which I until now have fought?

THE DEAN.

Deny, friend? Who makes such request?
Duty is all I bid you follow:
I ask you quietly to swallow
That which your people can’t digest.
Keep it intact, if you’re disposed,—
But yet hermetically closed;
At home, in God’s name, soar and swell,
Not as a public spectacle;
Trust me, the will that won’t be bent
Brings its unfailing punishment.

BRAND.

Ay, fear of torment, hope of gain,
Are on thy brow the brand of Cain,
Which cries that thou by worldly art
Hast slain the Abel in thy heart!

THE DEAN.
[_To himself._]

Upon my word he calls me “Thou”;
That is too much!—
[_Aloud._]
I will not now
Prolong our strife, but, to conclude,
Would have it clearly understood,
That if you’d prosper, you must weigh
What land you live in, and what day.
For no man wins the fight with fortune,
But in alliance with his time.
Which of the men who paint and rhyme
Dare fail when social claims importune?
Look at our soldiers! Why, the gleam
Of sabres is become a dream!
And wherefore? Since a law commands:
Postpone thy own need to the Land’s!
Let each his own excrescence pare,
Neither uplift him, nor protrude,
But vanish in the multitude.
“Humane the age is,” says the Mayor:
And if humanely it be met
Will bring you fame and fortune yet.
But all your angles must be rounded,
Your gnarls and bosses scraped and pounded!
You must grow sleek as others do,
All singularities eschew,
If you would labour without let.

BRAND.

Away! away!

THE DEAN.

I quite agree.
Men of your stamp must finally
Be summon’d to a higher seat;
But, in the greater as the less,
Only the regimental dress
Will make your happiness complete.
The corporal, staff in hand, must knock
The sense of Time into his flock;
For, to our mind, the best of all
Commanders is the corporal.
Just as the corporal leads his men
Into the church, battalion-wise,
So must the priest lead his, again,
By parishes to Paradise.
It’s all so easy!—Faith, you say,
Broad-based upon authority;
Which, being upon learning stay’d,
May be implicitly obey’d:
While rules and ritual leave no doubt
How faith ought to be acted out.
Wherefore, my brother,—pluck up cheer!
Employ the time for meditation;
Reflect upon your situation,
And don’t give way to futile fear!
I’ll see just now if I can pitch
My music to a higher note:
Though with an unaccustom’d throat,
A sounding-board’s so seldom here.
Farewell, farewell! I mean to preach
Of human nature’s sinful prime,
God’s image nigh obliterated.—
But now I’m thinking it is time
The inner mortal should be baited.
[_Goes._

BRAND
[_Stands for a moment as if petrified in thought._]

All I have offer’d for my call,
God’s as I vainly held it,—all;
And now one trumpet-blast reveal’d
Before what idols I had kneel’d.
Not yet! not yet! I’m not their slave!
Yon churchyard has had blood to sup,
Light, life I’ve laid in yonder grave;—
My soul shall not be yielded up!
O horrible to stand alone,—
Amid a glimmering world of dead;
Horrible to receive a stone,
Howe’er I hunger after bread.—
How true, how deadly true, his strain,—
But yet how vacant and how vain.
Dim broods God’s dove of piercing eyes;
Alas, to me she never flies.—
O, had I but _one_ faithful breast—
To give me strength, to give me rest.

_EINAR, pale, emaciated, dressed in black, comes along the
road and stops on perceiving BRAND._

BRAND
[_Cries out._]

You, Einar?

EINAR.

By that name I’m known.

BRAND.

I was just thirsting for a breast
That was not made of wood or stone!
Come, to my heart of hearts be press’d!

EINAR.

My haven’s found, I am at rest.

BRAND.

You bear a grudge for the event
Of our last meeting——

EINAR.

In no wise;
I blame you not. You were but sent
To be the passive instrument
Wherewith God oped my erring eyes.

BRAND
[_starts back._]

What tongue is this?

EINAR.

The tongue of peace—
The tongue they learn, who, timely torn
From Sleep of Sin, awake new-born.

BRAND.

Marvellous! I had heard of this,—
That you in quite another way
Were walking——

EINAR.

I was led astray
By pride, in my own strength secure.
The idols the world holds divine,
The talent I was told was mine,
My singer’s voice, were all malign
Seductions unto Satan’s lure.
But God (I praise Him) for me wrought,
Left not His erring sheep unsought,
He help’d me in my hour of need.

BRAND.

Help’d you—in what way?

EINAR.

Yes, indeed:—
I fell.

BRAND.

Fell? How?

EINAR.

To dissipation.
With gambling tastes He me imbued—

BRAND.

And that was God’s solicitude?

EINAR.

’Twas the first step to my salvation.
On that my health He undermined,
The talent from my fingers fled,
My love of revelry declined,
Then, to the hospital consign’d,
Long I lay sick, and round my bed
Flames seem’d to glare, and on each wall
Myriads of giant flies to crawl;—
Came out, and soon acquaintance made
With certain sisters, three in all,
Soldiers in God’s cause arm’d and paid.
And they, together with a priest,
Me from the yoke of Earth released
Pluck’d me from Sin that held me fast,
And made me the Lord’s child at last.

BRAND.

Indeed?

EINAR.

Divergent paths we follow;
One seeks the height, and one the hollow.

BRAND.

But after?

EINAR.

True; I turn’d me thence,
To preach for Total Abstinence;
But since that Work for the unwary
Is strewn with perilous temptation,
I chose another occupation,
And travel now as Missionary——

BRAND.

Where?

EINAR.

To the Caudate-nigger State.
But now, I think, we’ll separate;
My time is precious——

BRAND.

Won’t you stay?
You see here’s festival to-day.

EINAR.

Thanks, no; the swarthy Heathens wait.—
Farewell.
[_Going._

BRAND.

And does no memory stir,
Bidding you ask—?

EINAR.

Of what?

BRAND.

Of her
Who would have grieved at the abyss,
That parts another day from this.

EINAR.

I guess your meaning; you refer
To that young female, whose allure
Held me in pleasure’s net secure,
Till Faith’s ablution made me pure.
—Yes, and how is it then with her?

BRAND.

Next year I won her for my wife.

EINAR.

That’s unimportant, I prefer
To leave these trivial facts unknown
What’s _weighty_ I desire alone.

BRAND.

God richly bless’d our common life
With joy and sorrow: The child pined——

EINAR.

That’s unimportant——

BRAND.

So it is;
He was but given to be resign’d;
Our eyes one day shall look on his.
But afterwards she also died;
Their graves bloom yonder side by side.

EINAR.

That’s unimportant——

BRAND.

That likewise?

EINAR.

Such things are trifles in my eyes,
How did she die, I want to know?

BRAND.

With Hope that yet a Dawn shall glow,
With all her heart’s rich treasure whole.
With Will that never lost control,
With thanks for all that life had lent
And life had taken away, she went.

EINAR.

Trumpery figments every one.
Say what the faith she died in was.

BRAND.

Unshaken.

EINAR.

In what?

BRAND.

In God.

EINAR.

Alas
Only in Him? She is undone.

BRAND.

What say you?

EINAR.

Damn’d, to my regret.

BRAND.
[_Quietly._]

Go, scoundrel!

EINAR.

_You_ shall feel as well
The clutches of the Lord of hell;—
For both, eternal torments wait.

BRAND.

You, wretch, dare sentence to the Fire!
Yourself late wallow’d in the mire——

EINAR.

On me no spot is to be seen;
The tub of Faith hath wash’d me clean;
Each splash has vanish’d, scraped and scored
On Holiness’s washing-board;
In Vigilance’s mangle I
Have wrung my Adam’s-vesture dry;
And shine like snowy surplice fair,
Soap-lather’d with the suds of Prayer!

BRAND.

Hold!

EINAR.

Hold, yourself! Here’s sulphur fume,
I see the glints of Satan’s horn!
I am Salvation’s good wheat-corn,
And you the shovell’d chaff of Doom.
[_Goes._

BRAND.
[_Looks a while after him; all at once his eyes flash and he
breaks out._]

_That_, that is the man I need!
Now all bonds are burst that bound me;
Now my flag shall wave around me
Though none follow where I lead!

THE MAYOR.
[_Comes hastily in._]

Pray, dear Pastor, hasten, do!
The procession-people stand
Waiting only the command—

BRAND.

Let them come then!

THE MAYOR.

Wanting you!
Pray reflect, and hasten in!
All impatient to begin,
See, the whole mass throng and strain;
Like a torrent after storm
On the Manse they surge and swarm,
Shouting for the Priest. Again,
Hark you, for “the Priest” they shout,
Pray make haste! I much misdoubt,
They may scarcely prove humane!

BRAND.

Never will I hide my face
In the crowd that you command;
Let them seek me: here I stand.

THE MAYOR.

Are you sane?

BRAND.

The path you pace
Is too narrow for my tread.

THE MAYOR.

And ’twill still grow less and less
As the people push ahead.
Zounds! They spurn at rod and check!
Parsons, Dean, and Corporation
Jostled to the brimming beck—!
Quickly, friend, make application
Of the scourge of your persuasion!
Ha, too late, they smash the line;
The procession is a wreck!

_The multitude stream in, and break in wild disorder through
the procession to the church._

VOICES.

Priest!

OTHERS.

[_Pointing up to the Church steps, where BRAND
stands._]

See yonder!

OTHERS AGAIN.

Give the sign!

THE DEAN.
[_Jostled in the throng._]

Mayor, Mayor, control them, pray!

THE MAYOR.

All my words are thrown away!

THE SCHOOLMASTER.
[_To_ BRAND.]

Speak to them, and cast a gleam
On their spirits’ troubled stream!
What you summon’d us to see,
Was it Feast or foolery?

BRAND.

O, there stirs a current, then,
In these stagnant waters.—Men,
At the crossway stand ye: choose!
_Wholly_ ye must will to lose
The old vesture of your lust,
Utterly anew be clad,
Ere our Temple from the dust
Rises, as it shall and must!

OFFICIALS.

He is raving!

CLERGY.

He is mad!

BRAND.

Yes, I was so, when I thought
Ye in some sense also wrought
For the God who hateth Lies!
When I dream’d that I could lure
To your hearts His Spirit pure
By a feat of compromise.
Small the Church was; logic thence
Palter’d to the inference:
Twice the size—that cannot fail;
Fivefold,—that must needs prevail!
O, I saw not that the call
Was for _Nothing_ or else _All_.
Down that easy way I reel’d,
But to-day the Lord has spoken,
In this very hour has peal’d
Overhead the awful blast
Of His Judgment-trump at last,—
And I listen’d, in the wind
Of my anguish, baffled, broken,—
Even as David, having sinn’d—;
Now all hesitation dies.
Men! The Devil is _compromise_!

THE MULTITUDE.
[_With growing excitement._]

Down with them that quench’d our light
Sapp’d the marrow of our might!

BRAND.

In your souls the demon dwells
That has bound you with his spells.
You have put your powers at mart,
You have cleft yourselves in twain;
Discord therefore numbs your brain,
Petrifies your hollow heart.
To the Church to-day what drew you?
But the show, the show—nought else!—
Roll of organ, clash of bells,—
And to feel the tingle through you
Of a speaking-furnace dart,
As it lisps and lilts and prattles,
As it rolls and roars and rattles,
By the strictest rules of Art!

THE DEAN.
[_To himself._]

The Mayor’s chatter, he must mean.

THE MAYOR.
[_Likewise._]

That’s the twaddle of the Dean!

BRAND.

Nothing but the altar-glow
Of the Festival you know.
Get you home then to your sloth,
Get you home to toil and stress,
Soul as well as body clothe
In its common work-day dress,—
And the Bible slumber sound
Till the next Saint’s day comes round.
O, it was not to this end
That the Offering-cup I drain’d!
I the Greater Church ordain’d,
That its shadow might descend,
Not alone on Faith and Creed
But on everything in life
That by God’s leave lives indeed;—
On our daily strain and strife,
Midnight weeping, evening rest,
Youth’s impetuous delight,
All that harbours of good right,
Mean or precious, in the breast.
Yonder foss’s hidden thunder,
And the beck that sparkles under,
And the bellow of wild weather,
And the murmurous ocean’s tongue
Should have melted, soul-possess’d,
With the organ’s roll together,
And the gather’d people’s song.
Sweep this lying Labour hence!
Mighty only in pretence!
Stricken inly with decay
On its consecration day,—
Symbol of your impotence.
All the germs of soul you aim
By divided toil to maim;
For the week’s six days ye drag
To the deepest deep God’s flag,
For one only of the seven,
Let it flutter forth to heaven!

VOICES FROM THE THRONG.

Lead us, lead us! Tempest lowers!
Lead us, and the day is ours!

THE DEAN.

Do not hear him! Nought he knows
Of the Faith a Christian owes!

BRAND.

Ay, thou nam’st the flaw whereby
Both the throng, and thou and I,
Are beset! To souls alone
Faith is possible,—show me one!
Show me one that his best treasure
Has not inly flung to waste
In his fumbling, or his haste!
First, the reeling plunge for pleasure
To the tabor’s juggling strain
Till the zest of pleasure’s slain;
Then, soul-ruins, charr’d and stark,
Turn to dance before the Ark!
When the cup’s last liquor slips
Through the brain-worn cripple’s lips,
Ho! ’tis time to pray and mend,
Sure of pardon in the end.
First God’s image you outwear,
Live the beast within you bare,
Then to Mercy cry your needs,
Seeking God—as invalids!
So, His Kingdom’s overthrown.
What should He with souls effete
Grovelling at His mercy-seat?
Said He not that then alone
When your lifeblood pulses tense,
Through all veins of soul and sense,
Ye His kingdom shall inherit?
Children ye must be to share it;
No man hobbles through its gate.
Come then, ye whose cheek is rife
With the bloom of childhood yet
To the greater Church of Life!

THE MAYOR.

Open it then!

THE MULTITUDE.
[_Crying out as in anguish._]

No! Not this!

BRAND.

It has neither mark nor bound,
But its floor the green earth is,
Mead and mountain, sea and sound;
And the overarching sky
Is its only canopy.
There shall all thy work be wrought
As an anthem for God’s ear,
There thy week-day toil be sought
With no sacrilege to fear.
There the World be like a tree
Folded in its shielding bark;
Faith and Action blended be.
There shall daily labour fuse
With right Teaching and right Use,
Daily drudgery be one
With star-flights beyond the sun,
One with Yule-tide revelry
And the Dance before the Ark.

[_A stormy agitation passes over the multitude; some
retire; most press close about BRAND._

A THOUSAND VOICES.

Light is kindled in the dark;—
Life and serving God’s the same!

THE DEAN.

Woe on us! He wins them—hark!
Mayor, sexton, beadle, clerk!

THE MAYOR.
[_Aside._]

Do not scream so, o’ God’s name!
With a bull who wants a bout?
Let him roar his ravin out!

BRAND.
[_To the multitude._]

Hence—away! God is afar!
Cannot be where such men are!
Fair His kingdom is and free!

[_Locks the church-door and takes the keys in his
hand._]

Here I will be priest no more.
I revoke my gift;—from me
No man shall receive the key
Of the yet unopen’d door!
[_Throws the keys into the river._]
Wilt thou in, thou slave of clay,—
Through the crypt-hole worm thy way;
Lithe thy back is, creep and ply;
From that charnel let thy sigh
Roam the earth with venom’d breath,
Like the flagging gasp of death!

THE MAYOR.
[_Aside with relief._]

Ha, _his_ hope of knighthood’s dim!

THE DEAN.
[_Similarly._]

Well; no bishopric for him!

BRAND.

Come thou, young man—fresh and free—
Let a life-breeze lighten thee
From this dim vault’s clinging dust.
Conquer with me! For thou must
One day waken, one day rise,
Nobly break with compromise;—
Up, and fly the evil days,
Fly the maze of middle ways,
Strike the foeman full and fair,
Battle to the death declare!

THE MAYOR.

Hold! I’ll read the Riot Act!

BRAND.

Read! With you I break my pact.

THE MULTITUDE.

Show the way, and we will follow!

BRAND.

Over frozen height and hollow,
Over all the land we’ll fare,
Loose each soul-destroying snare
That this people holds in fee,
Lift and lighten, and set free,
Blot the vestige of the beast,
Each a Man and each a Priest,
Stamp anew the outworn brand,
Make a Temple of the land.

[_The multitude, including the SEXTON and
SCHOOLMASTER, throng around him. BRAND is lifted
on to their shoulders._

MANY VOICES.

’Tis a great Time! Visions fair
Dazzle through the noontide glare.

[_The great mass of the assemblage streams away up
the valley; a few remain._

THE DEAN.
[_To the departing crowd._]

O, ye blinded ones, what would you?
Lo! behind his seeming sooth
Satan scheming to delude you!

THE MAYOR.

Ho there! Turn! Folks born to track
Safe home-waters still and smooth!
Stop!—ye go to ruin and wrack!—
(Dogs! And not a word comes back!)

THE DEAN.

Think of household and of home!

VOICES FROM THE MULTITUDE.

To a greater Home we come!

THE MAYOR.

Think of meadow-plot and field;
Think of teeming stall and fold!

VOICES.

Heavenly dews did manna yield
When the chosen starved of old!

THE DEAN.

Hark! your women cry in chorus!

VOICES.
[_In the distance._]

Ours they are not if they quail!

THE DEAN.

“Father’s gone!” your children wail.

THE WHOLE MULTITUDE.

Be against us, or be for us!

THE DEAN.
[_Gazes a while with folded hands after them; then
dejectedly._]

By his faithless flock deserted
Stands the old shepherd, heavy-hearted,
Plunder’d to the very skin!

THE MAYOR.
[_Shaking his fist at BRAND._]