must wear.
--I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--

The Hill-King wedded the lily-wand,
--Oh, sad are my days and dreary--
With fifteen gold rings on either hand.
--I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--

Three summers passed, and there passed full five;
--Oh, sad are my days and dreary--
In the hill little Kirsten was buried alive.
--I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--

Five summers passed, and there passed full nine;
--Oh, sad are my days and dreary--
Little Kirsten ne'er saw the glad sunshine.
--I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--

In the dale there are flowers and the birds' blithe song;
--Oh, sad are my days and dreary--
In the hill there is gold and the night is long.
--I am waiting for thee, I am weary.--
[She rises and crosses the room.

How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing
This song in may father's hall.
There was somewhat in it--some strange, sad thing
That took my heart in thrall;
Though I scarce understood, I could ne'er forget--
And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet.
[Stops horror-struck.

Rings of red gold! And a belt beside--!
'Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride!
[In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table on
the left.

Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King's wife!
And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life.

[SIGNE, radiant with gladness, comes running in from
the back.

SIGNE.

[Calling.] Margit, Margit,--he is coming!

MARGIT.

[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?

SIGNE.

Gudmund, our kinsman!

MARGIT.

Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think--?

SIGNE.

Oh, I am sure of it.

MARGIT.

[Crosses to the right.] Gudmund Alfson is at the wedding-feast
in the King's hall; you know that as well as I.

SIGNE.

Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he.

MARGIT.

Have you seen him?

SIGNE.

Oh, no, no; but I must tell you--

MARGIT.

Yes, haste you--tell on!

SIGNE.

'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