Avaunt thee, bugbear! Man, begone! I will not die! I must ashore! THE PASSENGER. Oh, as for that, be reassured;— One dies not midmost of Act Five. [_Glides away._ PEER. Ah, there he let it out at last;— He was a sorry moralist. SCENE THIRD. _Churchyard in a high lying mountain parish._ _A funeral is going on. By the grave, the PRIEST and a gathering of people. The last verse of the psalm is being sung. PEER GYNT passes by on the road._ PEER. [_At the gate._] Here’s a countryman going the way of all flesh. God be thanked that it isn’t me. [_Enters the churchyard._ THE PRIEST. [_Speaking beside the grave._] Now, when the soul has gone to meet its doom, And here the dust lies, like an empty pod,— Now, my dear friends, we’ll speak a word or two About this dead man’s pilgrimage on earth. He was not wealthy, neither was he wise, His voice was weak, his bearing was unmanly, He spoke his mind abashed and faltering, He scarce was master at his own fireside; He sidled into church, as though appealing For leave, like other men, to take his place. It was from Gudbrandsdale, you know, he came. When here he settled he was but a lad;— And you remember how, to the very last, He kept his right hand hidden in his pocket. That right hand in the pocket was the feature That chiefly stamped his image on the mind,— And therewithal his writhing, his abashed Shrinking from notice wheresoe’er he went. But, though he still pursued a path aloof, And ever seemed a stranger in our midst, You all know what he strove so hard to hide,— The hand he muffled had four fingers only.— I well remember, many years ago, One morning; there were sessions held at Lundë. ’Twas war-time, and the talk in every mouth Turned on the country’s sufferings and its fate. I stood there watching. At the table sat The Captain, ’twixt the Bailiff[115] and the sergeants; Lad after lad was measured up and down, Passed, and enrolled, and taken for a soldier. The room was full, and from the green outside, Where thronged the young folks, loud the laughter rang. A name was called, and forth another stepped, One pale as snow upon the glacier’s edge. They bade the youth advance; he reached the table; We saw his right hand swaddled in a clout;— He gasped, he swallowed, battling after words,— But, though the Captain urged him, found no voice. Ah yes, at last! Then with his cheek aflame, His tongue now failing him, now stammering fast He mumbled something of a scythe that slipped