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SVANHILD.
So happy! Suffer me, O suffer me in silence still to dream.
Speak you for me; my budding thoughts, grown strong, One after one will burgeon into song, Like lilies in the bosom of the stream.
FALK.
O say it once again, in truth's pure tone Beyond the fear of doubt, that thou art mine!
O say it, Svanhild, say--
SVANHILD [throwing herself on his neck].
Yes, I am thine!
FALK.
Thou singing-bird G.o.d sent me for my own!
SVANHILD.
Homeless within my mother's house I dwelt, Lonely in all I thought, in all I felt, A guest unbidden at the feast of mirth,-- Accounted nothing--less than nothing--worth.
Then you appeared! For the first time I heard My own thought uttered in another's word; To my lame visions you gave wings and feet-- You young unmasker of the Obsolete!
Half with your caustic keenness you alarmed me, Half with your radiant eloquence you charmed me, As sea-girt forests summon with their spell The sea their flinty beaches still repel.
Now I have read the bottom of your soul, Now you have won me, undivided, whole; Dear forest, where my tossing billows beat, My tide's at flood and never will retreat!
FALK.
And I thank G.o.d that in the bath of Pain He purged my love. What strong compulsion drew Me on I knew not, till I saw in you The treasure I had blindly sought in vain.
I praise Him, who our love has lifted thus To n.o.ble rank by sorrow,--licensed us To a triumphal progress, bade us sweep Thro' fen and forest to our castle-keep, A n.o.ble pair, astride on Pegasus!
SVANHILD [pointing to the house].
The whole house, see, is making feast to-night.
There, in their honour, every room's alight, There cheerful talk and joyous song ring out; On the highroad no pa.s.ser-by will doubt That men are happy where they are so gay.
[With compa.s.sion.
Poor sister!--happy in the great world's way!
FALK.
"Poor" sister, say you?
SVANHILD.
Has she not divided With kith and kin the treasure of her soul, Her capital to fifty hands confided, So that not one is debtor for the whole?
From no one has she all things to receive, For no one has she utterly to live.
O beside my wealth hers is little worth; I have but one possession upon earth.
My heart was lordless when with trumpet blare And mult.i.tudinous song you came, its king, The banners of my thought your ensign bear, You fill my soul with glory, like the spring.
Yes, I must needs thank G.o.d, when it is past, That I was lonely till I found out thee,-- That I lay dead until the trumpet blast Waken'd me from the world's frivolity.
FALK.
Yes we, who have no friends on earth, we twain Own the true wealth, the golden fortune,--we Who stand without, beside the starlit sea, And watch the indoor revel thro' the pane.
Let the lamp glitter and the song resound, Let the dance madly eddy round and round;-- Look up, my Svanhild, into yon deep blue,-- There glitter little lamps in thousands, too--
SVANHILD.
And hark, beloved, thro' the limes there floats This balmy eve a chorus of sweet notes--
FALK.
It is for us that fretted vault's aglow--
SVANHILD.
It is for us the vale is loud below!
FALK.
I feel myself like G.o.d's lost prodigal; I left Him for the world's delusive charms.
With mild reproof He wooed me to His arms; And when I come, He lights the vaulted hall, Prepares a banquet for the son restored, And makes His n.o.blest creature my reward.
From this time forth I'll never leave that Light,-- But stand its armed defender in the fight; Nothing shall part us, and our life shall prove A song of glory to triumphant love!
SVANHILD.
And see how easy triumph is for two, When He's a man--
FALK.
She, woman thro' and thro';-- It is impossible for such to fall!
SVANHILD.
Then up, and to the war with want and sorrow; This very hour I will declare it all!
[Pointing to FALK's ring on her finger.
FALK [hastily].
No, Svanhild, not to-night, wait till to-morrow!
To-night we gather our young love's red rose; 'Twere sacrilege to smirch it with the prose Of common day.
[The door into the garden-room opens.
Your mother's coming! Hide!
No eye this night shall see thee as my bride!
[They go out among the trees by the summer-house.
MRS. HALM and GULDSTAD come out on the balcony.
MRS. HALM.
He's really going?
GULDSTAD.
Seems so, I admit.
STIVER [coming].
He's going, madam!
MRS. HALM.
We're aware of it!
STIVER.
A most unfortunate punctilio.
He'll keep his word; his stubbornness I know.
In the Gazette he'll put us all by name; My love will figure under leaded headings, With jilts, and twins, and countermanded weddings.
Listen; I tell you, if it weren't for shame, I would propose an armistice, a truce--
MRS. HALM.
You think he would be willing?
STIVER.
