[Stops.]
ARNE. I forgot,—he is—
ARNE. [Shaking his head.] Hm! It was a shameful
trick he played.
[He goes out to the right.]
* * *
* *
[ALFHILD appears near the tarn to the left; she carries
a little bundle.]
ALFHILD. I have wailed, I have wept, till my
heart is sore; I am weary and tired, I can weep no
more!
[Sinks down on a stone in the foreground.]
ALFHILD. First to my father farewell I shall
say!
Then into the mountains I make my way!
Down here I see Olaf wherever I go;
I must up in the heights to steel my mind!
I must deaden my grief, forget what I know,
And leave all the memories dear behind!
ALFHILD. The life in my dream had so rosy a
hue!
’Tis nothing but fiction, nothing is true,—
’Tis nothing but nonsense and shifting lies;
Naught can be seized and held in the hand.
Naught must be looked at with open eyes,
Nothing stands proof when we understand!
[The sound of trumpets is heard from the wood.]
ALFHILD. My mother’s heirlooms I take
with me;
I shall bury them deep in the ground!
I shall bury them deep ’neath the tall birch
tree,
Over yonder where Olaf I found!
[She opens her bundle and takes out a bridal crown
and other ornaments.]
ALFHILD. This crown did my mother once wear
on her head;
She too by the world then was tricked and misled,
She too then in love and its power believed.
Was she too so rudely deceived?
Was it only in jest that my father did sing
The pleasures that gladden the human breast?
Ah, then he should never have said anything;
His songs have robbed me of earthly rest;
His songs built a home for the ecstasies
Of life in my heart,—now in ruin it lies!
[The trumpets are heard again.]
ALFHILD. Silver indeed is a metal of worth,
’Twill never crumble like autumn hay.
Were it hid for a thousand years in the earth,
It would still glitter bright, it would never decay!
The pleasures of life are like autumn hay,
And sorrow like silver that glitters alway!
[Ties the ornaments together in the bundle.]
ALFHILD. A magic treasure I often recall,
From which dropped nine glorious pearls every night;
But no matter how many the pearls it let fall,
The treasure remained just as big and as bright!
ALFHILD. A treasure of magic, this sorrow of
mine,
And from it shall drip by night and by day,
Not nine,—but ten thousand pearls that
shine,—
Yet the treasure shall never decay!—
Yes, the world has made me so wise,—so
wise!
Once I followed the clouds in their flight,
Flew dreaming with them on their path in the skies,
And called them the swans of the light!
