Chapter 2

(In a low chant, abstractedly.)

She's sleeping in the springUnder the dark rock where the white sand pours.The moss is softer in the forest there,And there the wood-doves coo.He's going away; they told me yesterday.The forest heard them moan: He will not come.The chestnut burr shall break;The wild bird, feeding, shakeUnpicked the purple hartcrops to the ground,And the hushed forest only hear the soundOf antlers knocking where the wild deer rubs.He's going away—away—away.

(Staring vacantly into the forest, her back to Oswald, sheunconsciously picks the green burrs from the branchesabove her.)

Oswald—Selma.(After a pause.)Come here; will you?Selma— I'm gathering mast.My fawns, they like it so. It makes them sleek.Oswald—I want to tell you something.Selma— Tell me here.If I had listened to the forest birds,I'd have no berries. And my fawns must eat.Oswald—'Tis something serious.Selma— Ah, you've been to town.

Oswald—Selma.(After a pause.)Come here; will you?

Selma— I'm gathering mast.My fawns, they like it so. It makes them sleek.

Oswald—I want to tell you something.

Selma— Tell me here.If I had listened to the forest birds,I'd have no berries. And my fawns must eat.

Oswald—'Tis something serious.

Selma— Ah, you've been to town.

(As she saunters toward the log she reaches up in the air.)

Gossamers, where do they come from, Oswald?You never are gay when you've heard the bells.We are going to the mountains,maybe. ThenYou will not hear them. Are there berries there?Rudolph said he saw flowers in the ice.Think of that. Blue-bells.—You are like my crow.

(She takes a berry from her basket and holds it up betweenher fingers.)

If you will talk, you may.—I must go home.

(She pulls down a bough and begins to pick the leaves off,one by one.)

Oswald—I want you to go with me to the bridge.Selma—I can't. I must go home. Father will thinkI have been captured by the villagers.

Oswald—I want you to go with me to the bridge.

Selma—I can't. I must go home. Father will thinkI have been captured by the villagers.

(She removes her basket from the sun and lays the leavesupon her berries.)

He said: "You will not find them." But I did.Oswald—Sit down.Selma— I can't.—It makes my berries red.Father will say: "You see? They are not ripe."

He said: "You will not find them." But I did.

Oswald—Sit down.

Selma— I can't.—It makes my berries red.Father will say: "You see? They are not ripe."

(She goes about under the boughs selecting the largest ofthe leaves.)

It makes them black, then makes them red again.

(After a pause.)

Iheard bells ring last night. I dreamed I did.I called and they called and you would not come.I thought you could not hear me where you were.Oswald—In a great forest once two children lived.They used to wander about the wood. One day,Playing among the trees, suddenly they heardSmall voices calling: "Ho, children!" At that—Selma—Fairies.(She comes to the log.)Oswald— The children rose wide-eyed and letFall the wild-flowers they had gathered and stoodListening. Again the cry: "Ho, children!"

Iheard bells ring last night. I dreamed I did.I called and they called and you would not come.I thought you could not hear me where you were.

Oswald—In a great forest once two children lived.They used to wander about the wood. One day,Playing among the trees, suddenly they heardSmall voices calling: "Ho, children!" At that—

Selma—Fairies.(She comes to the log.)

Oswald— The children rose wide-eyed and letFall the wild-flowers they had gathered and stoodListening. Again the cry: "Ho, children!"

(Selma sits down.)

ThenThey, hand in hand, slowly, and half afraid,Moved forward, and the voices, as they moved,Moved onward, sometimes above them in the airSinging, and sometimes in the fernshaws: "Ho,Here we are!" And then a wisp of sun-bright hairFlashed in the deeper shadows of the wood.The children, shouting, "Catch her! There she goes!"Darted in glee from trunk to trunk. At lastThe voices died away. The children sawThe great trees glooming round them—Selma— Oh, I know!They cried themselves to sleep, for they were lost,And then the birds brought leaves and—Didn't they?No.Oswald—As night came on, the elder of them, a boy,Remembering to have heard a holy manSpeak of a house—a holy house—where menLive as the angels live—Selma— Went there?Oswald— To pray.To pray for help.Selma— For the other child?Oswald— For her.Selma—What did the fairies do?Oswald— But ere he went,Carved with his knife upon a tree a signA good man in the wood had taught him, a charmAgainst the spirit of the forest. Then heTold her strange words to say and leaving herKneeling upon the moss, her little handsFolded, he went away.(A pause.)Not for himself.Selma—And did he not come back? Tell me the rest.Oswald—Come with me to the bridge.Selma— Did he come back?Oswald—I have carved a charm.Selma— A charm?Oswald— For you.Selma— For me?

Selma— Oh, I know!They cried themselves to sleep, for they were lost,And then the birds brought leaves and—Didn't they?No.

Oswald—As night came on, the elder of them, a boy,Remembering to have heard a holy manSpeak of a house—a holy house—where menLive as the angels live—

Selma— Went there?

Oswald— To pray.To pray for help.

Selma— For the other child?

Oswald— For her.

Selma—What did the fairies do?

Oswald— But ere he went,Carved with his knife upon a tree a signA good man in the wood had taught him, a charmAgainst the spirit of the forest. Then heTold her strange words to say and leaving herKneeling upon the moss, her little handsFolded, he went away.(A pause.)Not for himself.

Selma—And did he not come back? Tell me the rest.

Oswald—Come with me to the bridge.

Selma— Did he come back?

Oswald—I have carved a charm.

Selma— A charm?

Oswald— For you.

Selma— For me?

(A pause.)

Where are you going, Oswald?—(A pause.) See my hair.Why should it scare the fishes? You are wise;Why should it, Oswald? It is soft as hersDown in the spring, and if you'll come and lookYou'll see the smallest minnows twinkle there;They do not fear.Oswald— It is a snare.Selma—(Naively.)Is it?I would not harm them, Oswald.Oswald— Father Paul saysIt is the snare of Satan.Selma— I know him.'Tis not my hair he uses.Oswald—(With horror.) Know Satan!(He turns away.)Selma—I did not know his name was—Ah, you run!You are just like the fishes. Come and play.I will not let it fall.(Throwing back her hair.)I will just peepOver the edge.

Oswald— It is a snare.

Selma—(Naively.)Is it?I would not harm them, Oswald.

Oswald— Father Paul saysIt is the snare of Satan.

Selma— I know him.'Tis not my hair he uses.

Oswald—(With horror.) Know Satan!(He turns away.)

Selma—I did not know his name was—Ah, you run!You are just like the fishes. Come and play.I will not let it fall.(Throwing back her hair.)I will just peepOver the edge.

(Going up the slope to where the boughs hang low, shebegins to gather the green burrs. While she gathersthem, she sings:)

Hark, shepherd, hark; the forest callsAway to the greenwood still.We'll leave the dewy wether-bellTo tinkle on the hill.Our ewes shall nibble gowan;We'll gipsy in the wood;Our bed shall be the wild plush moss;Our cruse shall be the flood.The lush blue whortle-berriesWe'll gather eve and mornAnd we'll wander where the brocketRubs the velvet from his horn.Come, shepherd, come—I will not sing; the shepherd will not come.I'll go and call the forest children.(She takes up her basket.)Oswald— Selma.Selma—Night-bird hooting at noon!Oswald— Listen to me.Selma—I'll listen to the jay; he's merrier.Oswald—You are not of the witches that at nightFly through the air to that far windy cragThat beetles o'er the foam of the wild seaAnd there, with orgies lewd to the black goat,Whirl in the revel with dark Barrabam?Selma—There is no fairy with a name like that.Oswald—He is the prince of fairies and of fiends.Father Paul says that oft on stormy nights,When stars scarce venture to the brink of heaven,Witches go down the sky scattering fogs,Diseases, blights, and death, and with them goThose whom their cursed arts have wrought uponTo taste the air of Hell. Far in the West,From every quarter of the earth and skyAnd from those awful rivers, they assembleAnd hold their sabbaths on a windy cliff,A headland hanging over the edge of the world,About whose base an ocean bellows soThat nothing dares approach save frenzied things.There, while the moon protrudes an awful hornFar off at sea and rocks among the waves,They curse God's watchful planets from the skyAnd lead their converts, dizzy with the brew,To trample on the blood of Christ and swearTo serve the arch-demon who is known to themAs Barrabam. A while ago you saidYou did not know his name as Satan. Selma,—Selma—You said he used my hair, but 'tis not mine.The other day I saw him in the streamSnaring the silver chubs. Said he: "My lass,I'll give two shiners for a lock of hair.""To snare the fishes with! You horrid man.I will not give it." And I ran away.'Tis not my hair he uses.Oswald—(Aside.) What a child!Walking in darkness to the Tempter's snare.Oh, I would die for you!Selma— You run away.(He looks at her.)You cannot guess what I found in the wood.Oswald—You do not know what danger you are in.Selma—I know the ground-bird lays five speckled eggs;That filberts wear green hoods.Oswald— Oh, what of that?What will that profit in the Judgment Day?You have not been baptized. You do not hearThe terrible, terrible, groanings of the lost.O God, you do not know, you do not know!Selma—I know the wood-pink is the first to wakeOf all the flowers. I know where king-cups growAnd wink-a-peeps that sleep when days are dark.I know when shadows lie beneath the boughsAs they do now, I know you'll never findA squirrel or chipmunk out in all the wood,For then the forest sleeps. And I know where—Oswald—O Selma, listen to me just this once,And then forever listen to the yearsGive back the echo of this golden hour.Do you remember that day in the woodWhen we were gathering may-apples? You ranShouting: "Here is a large one," and you stoopedTo pick it, when a snake coiled round the stalk,Hissed at you and you started back in fear.Had it not hissed you never would have knownThat it was there, so green it was, so likeThe stalk it coiled about. You saw that oneBecause it hissed. But one that hisses notIs coiled about the world, as like the worldAs was the green one to the may-flower stalk.Selma—I have heard father speak of it. He saysThat it is full of bones.Oswald— And souls of men.Only in holy houses are we safe.Selma—He said that I should not go near the villageIn gathering berries.Oswald— 'Tis the serpent Sin.Oh, how its sting has marred the perfect world!Ready to spring, the fiends couch for us. WeAre hunted, Father Paul says, through the worldAs was the deer the good saint saved, Saint Giles.And men are fleeing from the wrath to come.Selma—It cannot come up on the mountain tops.Oswald—(Fervently.) Call on the Virgin. Yield to Lord Jesus.Do not reject him. Be baptized. Be saved.Do you not see that I would die for you?O Selma, playmate, loved one, promise me—Selma—I will not eat May-apples any more.Oswald—Oh, not to understand and yet be lost!

Hark, shepherd, hark; the forest callsAway to the greenwood still.We'll leave the dewy wether-bellTo tinkle on the hill.

Our ewes shall nibble gowan;We'll gipsy in the wood;Our bed shall be the wild plush moss;Our cruse shall be the flood.

The lush blue whortle-berriesWe'll gather eve and mornAnd we'll wander where the brocketRubs the velvet from his horn.Come, shepherd, come—

I will not sing; the shepherd will not come.I'll go and call the forest children.(She takes up her basket.)

Oswald— Selma.

Selma—Night-bird hooting at noon!

Oswald— Listen to me.

Selma—I'll listen to the jay; he's merrier.

Oswald—You are not of the witches that at nightFly through the air to that far windy cragThat beetles o'er the foam of the wild seaAnd there, with orgies lewd to the black goat,Whirl in the revel with dark Barrabam?

Selma—There is no fairy with a name like that.

Oswald—He is the prince of fairies and of fiends.Father Paul says that oft on stormy nights,When stars scarce venture to the brink of heaven,Witches go down the sky scattering fogs,Diseases, blights, and death, and with them goThose whom their cursed arts have wrought uponTo taste the air of Hell. Far in the West,From every quarter of the earth and skyAnd from those awful rivers, they assembleAnd hold their sabbaths on a windy cliff,A headland hanging over the edge of the world,About whose base an ocean bellows soThat nothing dares approach save frenzied things.There, while the moon protrudes an awful hornFar off at sea and rocks among the waves,They curse God's watchful planets from the skyAnd lead their converts, dizzy with the brew,To trample on the blood of Christ and swearTo serve the arch-demon who is known to themAs Barrabam. A while ago you saidYou did not know his name as Satan. Selma,—

Selma—You said he used my hair, but 'tis not mine.The other day I saw him in the streamSnaring the silver chubs. Said he: "My lass,I'll give two shiners for a lock of hair.""To snare the fishes with! You horrid man.I will not give it." And I ran away.'Tis not my hair he uses.

Oswald—(Aside.) What a child!Walking in darkness to the Tempter's snare.Oh, I would die for you!

Selma— You run away.(He looks at her.)You cannot guess what I found in the wood.

Oswald—You do not know what danger you are in.

Selma—I know the ground-bird lays five speckled eggs;That filberts wear green hoods.

Oswald— Oh, what of that?What will that profit in the Judgment Day?You have not been baptized. You do not hearThe terrible, terrible, groanings of the lost.O God, you do not know, you do not know!

Selma—I know the wood-pink is the first to wakeOf all the flowers. I know where king-cups growAnd wink-a-peeps that sleep when days are dark.I know when shadows lie beneath the boughsAs they do now, I know you'll never findA squirrel or chipmunk out in all the wood,For then the forest sleeps. And I know where—

Oswald—O Selma, listen to me just this once,And then forever listen to the yearsGive back the echo of this golden hour.Do you remember that day in the woodWhen we were gathering may-apples? You ranShouting: "Here is a large one," and you stoopedTo pick it, when a snake coiled round the stalk,Hissed at you and you started back in fear.Had it not hissed you never would have knownThat it was there, so green it was, so likeThe stalk it coiled about. You saw that oneBecause it hissed. But one that hisses notIs coiled about the world, as like the worldAs was the green one to the may-flower stalk.

Selma—I have heard father speak of it. He saysThat it is full of bones.

Oswald— And souls of men.Only in holy houses are we safe.

Selma—He said that I should not go near the villageIn gathering berries.

Oswald— 'Tis the serpent Sin.Oh, how its sting has marred the perfect world!Ready to spring, the fiends couch for us. WeAre hunted, Father Paul says, through the worldAs was the deer the good saint saved, Saint Giles.And men are fleeing from the wrath to come.

Selma—It cannot come up on the mountain tops.

Oswald—(Fervently.) Call on the Virgin. Yield to Lord Jesus.Do not reject him. Be baptized. Be saved.Do you not see that I would die for you?O Selma, playmate, loved one, promise me—

Selma—I will not eat May-apples any more.

Oswald—Oh, not to understand and yet be lost!

(He walks away.)

Selma—I will not eat them, Oswald. I will notGo near them if you do not wish me to.Oswald—Some day you will know why.(He takes up his staff.) Then you will knowIt was not for myself. You will know why.

Selma—I will not eat them, Oswald. I will notGo near them if you do not wish me to.

Oswald—Some day you will know why.(He takes up his staff.) Then you will knowIt was not for myself. You will know why.

(He stops near the spring.)

You will remember this—this day—these leaves—The golden sunlight on the waters there—

(Thoughtfully, looking down into the spring.)

And never will come back forevermore.SELMA—Oh, yes it will. They will not let her grieve.The fairies, when they trip the wood to-night,Will miss her, for she dances with them there.Oh, you should see them, Oswald. When they danceShe is no bigger than the fairies are.To see them swing—Oh, 'tis a sight to make the wood-dove gay.

And never will come back forevermore.

SELMA—Oh, yes it will. They will not let her grieve.The fairies, when they trip the wood to-night,Will miss her, for she dances with them there.Oh, you should see them, Oswald. When they danceShe is no bigger than the fairies are.To see them swing—Oh, 'tis a sight to make the wood-dove gay.

(Circling round in a dance.)

Lightly whirling round and roundThrough the forest, scarcely shakingFlower stalk upon the ground.In the leaves the violets wakingScatter perfume. Fairies, bow;Lift their purple hoods and kiss them.Join the dance and leave them now.(Ecstatically.)One night up in the wood, when silver flakesWere dancing with the fairies on the moss,An owl whooped. The fairies scampered offInto the ferns. The little water elfI found up close against a gnarled oak trunk,Hid in a moss-pink in a drop of dew.Oh, she was tiny as a fairykin!Her hair was scattered, she was frightened so.You should have seen her how she looked at me,As if to say: "You here!" I nod, and thenWe laugh together, thinking of the trickThe surly owl played.(Again she circles round in a dance.)Oswald—(With horror.) This is enchantment!This is the cursed spells of forest devils,Witchcraft and Barrabam, the broth of HellAnd the wild mountain and the swirling sea!

One night up in the wood, when silver flakesWere dancing with the fairies on the moss,An owl whooped. The fairies scampered offInto the ferns. The little water elfI found up close against a gnarled oak trunk,Hid in a moss-pink in a drop of dew.Oh, she was tiny as a fairykin!Her hair was scattered, she was frightened so.You should have seen her how she looked at me,As if to say: "You here!" I nod, and thenWe laugh together, thinking of the trickThe surly owl played.(Again she circles round in a dance.)

Oswald—(With horror.) This is enchantment!This is the cursed spells of forest devils,Witchcraft and Barrabam, the broth of HellAnd the wild mountain and the swirling sea!

(Advancing toward her, he reaches into his bosom andfetches forth a large silver crucifix fastened to a blackstring that encircles his neck.)

Selma, touch this, touch this and say with me:"Pater noster—" come—"qui es in coelis—"Selma—(Still dancing.)I don't know what it means.Oswald— "Pater—". Repeat.Selma—I say I do not know—Oswald— It does not matter.Selma—Then tell me what it means.Oswald— You must not ask.You show more faith not knowing. "Pater—" Come."Pater noster—"(Reaching toward her.)Will you?Selma—(Snatching up her basket.) What does it mean?Oswald—(Bowing his head.)I do not know.Selma— You are just teasing me.Oswald—Selma, listen to me. If our dear Lord,Who died upon the tree that we might live,Had meant that we should know what this thing means,He would have told us. Let us show our faith.Oh, let us say it as He taught us. Come,Repeat it with me. "Pater—"(Advancing toward her.)Will you say it?Selma—(Skipping up the slope and disappearing throughthe boughs.)I will not till you tell me what it means.

Selma, touch this, touch this and say with me:"Pater noster—" come—"qui es in coelis—"

Selma—(Still dancing.)I don't know what it means.

Oswald— "Pater—". Repeat.

Selma—I say I do not know—

Oswald— It does not matter.

Selma—Then tell me what it means.

Oswald— You must not ask.You show more faith not knowing. "Pater—" Come."Pater noster—"(Reaching toward her.)Will you?

Selma—(Snatching up her basket.) What does it mean?

Oswald—(Bowing his head.)I do not know.

Selma— You are just teasing me.

Oswald—Selma, listen to me. If our dear Lord,Who died upon the tree that we might live,Had meant that we should know what this thing means,He would have told us. Let us show our faith.Oh, let us say it as He taught us. Come,Repeat it with me. "Pater—"(Advancing toward her.)Will you say it?

Selma—(Skipping up the slope and disappearing throughthe boughs.)I will not till you tell me what it means.

(Oswald stands as one who knows not what to do. Alongthe path leading in from the left, Father Paul, the friar,enters. For a time he stands contemplating the scenebefore him.)

Father Paul—My son. Come now. Come now. The Lord Christ calls.Delay is death. Give up this heathen world.You cannot save her here. But there, who knows?Prayer can do much. Go now and get the cross.I shall wait for you in the grotto here.(They go out, right.)

SCENE THREE—In the depths of the forest. Backthrough the trees, to the right, is seen the home of Canzler,a small cottage built of logs, with antlers over the doorway.It sits in a space partially cleared, and the lightfalls golden about it. Among the trees in the foreground,where the shadows are thicker, is the stump of a largeoak and a newly fallen trunk extending out left. Overto the right, at the foot of one of the trees, lies a smallbundle fastened to the end of a stick. At intervals a birdis heard singing in the forest.Near the stump several men are gathered. Canzler,facing right, stands beside the log with his hand restingupon his ax. He is bareheaded. His sleeves are rolled upabove his elbows and his shirt, open in front, discloseshis broad, hairy breast. Near the stump stands Hartzel, aman apparently seventy years of age. He wears a long,white beard and his hands are folded on top of a tallrustic staff. The others are Fritz and Rudolph and Wiglaf,the gleeman, in a fantastic garb faded and tattered. Onthe other side of the log, to the right of Canzler, is Max,another woodman, also in his shirt sleeves.

Near the stump several men are gathered. Canzler,facing right, stands beside the log with his hand restingupon his ax. He is bareheaded. His sleeves are rolled upabove his elbows and his shirt, open in front, discloseshis broad, hairy breast. Near the stump stands Hartzel, aman apparently seventy years of age. He wears a long,white beard and his hands are folded on top of a tallrustic staff. The others are Fritz and Rudolph and Wiglaf,the gleeman, in a fantastic garb faded and tattered. Onthe other side of the log, to the right of Canzler, is Max,another woodman, also in his shirt sleeves.

Wiglaf—Why did they burn my harp, then? I'm a man.Fritz—

Wiglaf—Why did they burn my harp, then? I'm a man.

Fritz—

(Leaning forward and speaking in a loud voice in Hartzel's ear.)

You hear what Wiglaf says? Says he's a man;Why did they burn his harp, then?Canzler— No, Hartzel;'Tis not enough with them that we are men;We must be Christians.Wiglaf— That's it.Canzler— We must prayThe prayers the priests pray. We must go to church,Chant when they chant and what they chant and beClay, as it were, upon their potter's-wheel.'Tis not enough the great All-father wroughtUs in his image; not enough to liveThe honest life of man. We must submitTo be remolded to whatever shapeThe potter-priest may give us. So we bearHis stamp and pray his prayers and wear the nameChristian—Fritz— Then you can steal or—Canzler— No, Hartzel;Mass counts with them much more than manhood does.Wiglaf—Canzler's just right. Who ever heard of themInjuring a man because his life was bad,If his Faith was good?

You hear what Wiglaf says? Says he's a man;Why did they burn his harp, then?

Canzler— No, Hartzel;'Tis not enough with them that we are men;We must be Christians.

Wiglaf— That's it.

Canzler— We must prayThe prayers the priests pray. We must go to church,Chant when they chant and what they chant and beClay, as it were, upon their potter's-wheel.'Tis not enough the great All-father wroughtUs in his image; not enough to liveThe honest life of man. We must submitTo be remolded to whatever shapeThe potter-priest may give us. So we bearHis stamp and pray his prayers and wear the nameChristian—

Fritz— Then you can steal or—

Canzler— No, Hartzel;Mass counts with them much more than manhood does.

Wiglaf—Canzler's just right. Who ever heard of themInjuring a man because his life was bad,If his Faith was good?

(Hartzel puts his hand to his ear and looks at Fritz.)

Fritz— Who ever heard of themInjuring a man because his life was bad,If his Faith was good?(Wiglaf listens to the bird.)Hartzel— I don't doubt that some would.(Canzler touches him.)Wiglaf—The birds are free to sing Val-father's songs.Wiglaf must sing the songs men bid him singOr have his tongue pulled out.Canzler— Speaking of Faith,How can a good man have a bad Faith? Isn'tHis life his Faith?Hartzel— Life his faith? Just so; but—But circumstances, Canzler. If we knew—Wiglaf—He thinks I've been a scoundrel.Hartzel— I don't say.I don't say that, for I don't know.Wiglaf— Don't know!

Fritz— Who ever heard of themInjuring a man because his life was bad,If his Faith was good?(Wiglaf listens to the bird.)

Hartzel— I don't doubt that some would.(Canzler touches him.)

Wiglaf—The birds are free to sing Val-father's songs.Wiglaf must sing the songs men bid him singOr have his tongue pulled out.

Canzler— Speaking of Faith,How can a good man have a bad Faith? Isn'tHis life his Faith?

Hartzel— Life his faith? Just so; but—But circumstances, Canzler. If we knew—

Wiglaf—He thinks I've been a scoundrel.

Hartzel— I don't say.I don't say that, for I don't know.

Wiglaf— Don't know!

(Back through the trees to the left, Selma is seen goingtoward the cottage.)

Fritz—(Shouting in Hartzel's ear.)He says you think he's been a scoundrel? ThinkThat's why they tried to kill him?Hartzel—(In amazement.) Why—why—no:I did not hear, Wiglaf; your back was turned.Selma—(Holding up her basket.)I found them, Father. See? I said I would.Wiglaf—That island, Canzler, where they say our raceRebuilt its kingdom, who knows aught of it?Canzler—No word has reached us from that far off land.Wiglaf—It used to live in gleemen's songs, but now—Canzler—Old men recall it as a forgotten thing.

Fritz—(Shouting in Hartzel's ear.)He says you think he's been a scoundrel? ThinkThat's why they tried to kill him?

Hartzel—(In amazement.) Why—why—no:I did not hear, Wiglaf; your back was turned.

Selma—(Holding up her basket.)I found them, Father. See? I said I would.

Wiglaf—That island, Canzler, where they say our raceRebuilt its kingdom, who knows aught of it?

Canzler—No word has reached us from that far off land.

Wiglaf—It used to live in gleemen's songs, but now—

Canzler—Old men recall it as a forgotten thing.

(Selma enters the cottage.)

Wiglaf—In what sea lies it?Canzler— Where the Frankish landLooks toward the setting Balder, I have heard.Wiglaf—And does this river off here empty near it?Canzler—First flowing through wide forests and high rocks.

Wiglaf—In what sea lies it?

Canzler— Where the Frankish landLooks toward the setting Balder, I have heard.

Wiglaf—And does this river off here empty near it?

Canzler—First flowing through wide forests and high rocks.

(Wiglaf walks to and fro thoughtfully.)

Hartzel—I don't doubt you've been wronged, Wiglaf. I don'tDoubt that they're arming. What I do say isWho knows it is against us?Wiglaf— Wait and see.Hartzel—It may be they are mustering a hostTo take the East again. Nigh forty yearsAgo now, Frederic Red-beard—Canzler hereRemembers; he was young then—musteredNigh on to four score thousand, Canzler?Canzler— About.Hartzel—And they were not against us.Wiglaf—(Taking up the bundle and starting right.)Farewell, all.Canzler—Where are you going, Wiglaf?Wiglaf— There's no placeIn all this land for Wiglaf.Canzler— Don't say thatWhile that roof stands.Wiglaf— It won't stand long, Canzler.Fritz—(Clenching his hands.)'Twill stand till he won't need it any more.Wiglaf—Wild deer shall listen and no foot be heard.Canzler—Have you forgotten your inspired word?

Hartzel—I don't doubt you've been wronged, Wiglaf. I don'tDoubt that they're arming. What I do say isWho knows it is against us?

Wiglaf— Wait and see.

Hartzel—It may be they are mustering a hostTo take the East again. Nigh forty yearsAgo now, Frederic Red-beard—Canzler hereRemembers; he was young then—musteredNigh on to four score thousand, Canzler?

Canzler— About.

Hartzel—And they were not against us.

Wiglaf—(Taking up the bundle and starting right.)Farewell, all.

Canzler—Where are you going, Wiglaf?

Wiglaf— There's no placeIn all this land for Wiglaf.

Canzler— Don't say thatWhile that roof stands.

Wiglaf— It won't stand long, Canzler.

Fritz—(Clenching his hands.)'Twill stand till he won't need it any more.

Wiglaf—Wild deer shall listen and no foot be heard.

Canzler—Have you forgotten your inspired word?

(Fritz and Rudolph exchange glances.)

Wiglaf—But centuries may pass ere that child comes.

(Selma comes from the cottage and begins to gather dryleaves and chips about the doorway. She is singing toherself and her voice comes faintly through the trees.)

Canzler—Or in these hard days have you, too, lost faithIn Woden?Wiglaf—Wiglaf lose faith in Woden!O chief!

Canzler—Or in these hard days have you, too, lost faithIn Woden?

Wiglaf—Wiglaf lose faith in Woden!O chief!

(Looking down.)

What shall Wiglaf say? Shall the skald,Whose eye sees through the darkness, see no light?Beyond the winter see no spring, beyondThe storm, no calm?(He starts away.)Canzler— Stay here with us, Wiglaf.(Selma enters the cottage.)Wiglaf—Lose faith in Woden when the north wind blows?Think the trunk dead because the boughs are bare?Shall the bloom live forever, and the seedNot swell and break its pod and find the earth?Val-father sows and reaps and sows again.Our race has come to harvest, and the handsOf southern reapers have laid low the tribes,Bound them in sheaves and stacked them far awayAnd threshed them out on many a bloody field.Canzler—And the war-maidens have gleaned heroes there.Wiglaf—Gleaned them and sown them in the earth again.The years fall white upon the silent tribes.Val-father's winter locks them in the ground.

What shall Wiglaf say? Shall the skald,Whose eye sees through the darkness, see no light?Beyond the winter see no spring, beyondThe storm, no calm?(He starts away.)

Canzler— Stay here with us, Wiglaf.(Selma enters the cottage.)

Wiglaf—Lose faith in Woden when the north wind blows?Think the trunk dead because the boughs are bare?Shall the bloom live forever, and the seedNot swell and break its pod and find the earth?Val-father sows and reaps and sows again.Our race has come to harvest, and the handsOf southern reapers have laid low the tribes,Bound them in sheaves and stacked them far awayAnd threshed them out on many a bloody field.

Canzler—And the war-maidens have gleaned heroes there.

Wiglaf—Gleaned them and sown them in the earth again.The years fall white upon the silent tribes.Val-father's winter locks them in the ground.

(Looking up at the trees.)

But O, O chief, these, too, were once down there.Canzler—The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout.

But O, O chief, these, too, were once down there.

Canzler—The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout.

(Fritz bows his head and walks back among the trees.)

Rudolph—(From a pent-up heart.)Shall it, Wiglaf?Canzler— The bare North shall be green.Wiglaf—Be red.Canzler— Wiglaf!Wiglaf— The young leaves come out red.As one who puts his ear against a door

Rudolph—(From a pent-up heart.)Shall it, Wiglaf?

Canzler— The bare North shall be green.

Wiglaf—Be red.

Canzler— Wiglaf!

Wiglaf— The young leaves come out red.As one who puts his ear against a door

(He gets down and puts his ear to the earth.)

And hears within a noise of armed men,I hear the washing of Val-father's wavesRushing from Naastrand where their bodies liePiled on the dark shore where the ships come not.Canzler—Bringing them back.Wiglaf—(Rising.) With shock of arms, O chief,The breaking of the bark.Canzler— Then comes the leaf.Wiglaf—Red from the breaking of—Canzler— It shall be green.Wiglaf—Bragi is singing the white years away.(He goes out right.)Canzler—We may be few, Wiglaf, but—Max— Stay with us.Wiglaf—He beckons from that island in the sea.Wiglaf must go where Bragi calls.Canzler— Oh, say"Hail," to that kindred land!

And hears within a noise of armed men,I hear the washing of Val-father's wavesRushing from Naastrand where their bodies liePiled on the dark shore where the ships come not.

Canzler—Bringing them back.

Wiglaf—(Rising.) With shock of arms, O chief,The breaking of the bark.

Canzler— Then comes the leaf.

Wiglaf—Red from the breaking of—

Canzler— It shall be green.

Wiglaf—Bragi is singing the white years away.(He goes out right.)

Canzler—We may be few, Wiglaf, but—

Max— Stay with us.

Wiglaf—He beckons from that island in the sea.Wiglaf must go where Bragi calls.

Canzler— Oh, say"Hail," to that kindred land!

(He drops his ax against the log.)

From us say "Hail!"

(Stepping past the stump.)

Oh, if you find them holding up the North,Oh, tell them, Wiglaf, to keep iron hearts!Say that the ancient trunk of WittikindShows a green sprout! Say all the North is green!Rudolph—Go with us to the mountains!Fritz— Stay and die!Canzler—Or say—say, Wiglaf, say—it shall be green!

Oh, if you find them holding up the North,Oh, tell them, Wiglaf, to keep iron hearts!Say that the ancient trunk of WittikindShows a green sprout! Say all the North is green!

Rudolph—Go with us to the mountains!

Fritz— Stay and die!

Canzler—Or say—say, Wiglaf, say—it shall be green!

(Smoke is seen curling above the roof of the cottage.)

Hartzel—I did not say he was a scoundrel. Eh?(To Rudolph.)Did I? Did I, Max?(Calling to Canzler.)Where is he going?I don't doubt he's been wronged; I don't doubt that.Where's he—

(Fritz comes forward.)

Rudolph(To Max.)—We must leave here.Fritz— We must stay here.

Rudolph(To Max.)—We must leave here.

Fritz— We must stay here.

(In Hartzel's ear.)

He says we, too, must leave here.Hartzel— Leave? What for?What have we done?Fritz— But I say stay and die.Let them thresh us out, too. (To Max.) What do you say?Rudolph—What do you say, Max?Max— I say stay and live.They cannot kill us.Rudolph— How so?Max— If they do,They must kill Oswald, too. Then where's the child?

He says we, too, must leave here.

Hartzel— Leave? What for?What have we done?

Fritz— But I say stay and die.Let them thresh us out, too. (To Max.) What do you say?

Rudolph—What do you say, Max?

Max— I say stay and live.They cannot kill us.

Rudolph— How so?

Max— If they do,They must kill Oswald, too. Then where's the child?

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