He strode onwards, as if to flee from his thoughts; but the farther he went, the nearer he came to Böen, and the more he looked at it. The mist had disappeared, the sky shone bright between the frame of mountains, the birds floated in the sunny air, calling to each other, and the fields laughed with millions of flowers; here no thundering waterfall bowed the gladness to submissive awe, but full of life it gambolled and sang without check or pause. Arne walked till he became glowing hot; then he threw himself down on the grass beneath the shadow of a hill and looked towards Böen, but he soon turned away again to avoid seeing it. Then he heard a song above him, so wonderfully clear as he had never heard a song before. It came floating over the meadows, mingled with the chattering of the birds, and he had scarcely recognized the tune ere he recognized the words also: the tune was the one he loved better than any; the words were those he had borne in his mind ever since he was a boy, and had forgotten that same day they were brought forth. He sprang up as if he would catch them, but then stopped and listened while verse after verse came streaming down to him:-- "What shall I see if I ever go Over the mountains high? Now, I can see but the peaks of snow, Crowning the cliffs where the pine-trees grow, Waiting and longing to rise Nearer the beckoning skies. "Th' eagle is rising afar away, Over the mountains high, Rowing along in the radiant day With mighty strokes to his distant prey, Where he will, swooping downwards, Where he will, sailing onwards. "Apple-tree, longest thou not to go Over the mountains high? Gladly thou growest in summer's glow, Patiently waitest through winter's snow: Though birds on thy branches swing, Thou knowest not what they sing. "He who has twenty years longed to flee Over the mountains high-- He who beyond them, never will see, Smaller, and smaller, each year must be: He hears what the birds, say While on thy boughs they play. "Birds, with your chattering, why did ye come Over the mountains high? Beyond, in a sunnier land ye could roam, And nearer to heaven could build your home; Why have ye come to bring Longing, without your wing? "Shall I, then, never, never flee Over the mountains high? Rocky walls, will ye always be Prisons until ye are tombs for me?-- Until I lie at your feet Wrapped in my winding-sheet? "Away! I will away, afar away, Over the mountains high! Here, I am sinking lower each day, Though my Spirit has chosen the loftiest way; Let her in freedom fly; Not, beat on the walls and die!