In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn, The lad had ceased to play on his horn. "Oh, why art thou silent? I beg thee to play! It gives wings to my thoughts that would flee far away, As the sun goes down."
In her maiden bower sat the Princess forlorn, Once more with delight played the lad on his horn. She wept as the shadows grew long, and she sighed: "Oh, tell me, my God, what my heart doth betide, Now the sun has gone down."
_The scene is at first empty. Then_ Sigurd Slembe _enters, climbing over a rock; he comes forward in silence, but powerfully agitated._
The Danes forsake me! The battle is lost! Thus far--and no farther!
Escape to the mountains to-night! Exchange my ships for freedom! There are herds of horses on the mountains: we will climb up there and then fall upon the valleys like a snowstorm.
But when winter comes? To begin at the beginning: the outlaw's life--never more! I have made my last effort; had it been successful, men would have wondered at me. It has failed, and vengeance is loose. I cannot gather another force in Norway!
All over? Thus far and no farther? No! The Danes sail, but we will sail with them! This night, this very night we will raise our yards and follow them to the open sea.
But whither shall we turn our prows? To Denmark? We may raise no third force in Denmark. Start out again as merchant? No! Serve in foreign lands? No! Crusade? No! Hither and no farther! Sigurd, the end has come!
[_Almost sobbing._] Death! The thought sprang up in my mind as a door swings open, clashing upon its hinges; light, air, receive me! [_He draws his sword._] No; I will fall fighting in the cause I have lived for--my men shall have a leader!
Is there no chance of victory? no trick? Can I not get them ashore? Can I not get them in the toils? try them in point-blank fight, man to man, all the strength of despair fighting with me? Ah, could they but hear me, could I but find some high place and speak to them; tell them how clear as the sun is my right, how monstrous the wrongs I have borne, what a crime is theirs in withstanding me! You murder not me alone, but thousands upon thousands of thoughts for my fatherland's welfare; I have carried nothing out, I have not sown the least grain, or laid one stone upon another to witness that I have lived. Ah, I have strength for better things than strife; it was the desire to work that drove me homewards; it was impatience that wrought me ill! Believe me, try me, give me but half what Harald Gille promised me, even less; I ask but very little, if I may still live and strive to accomplish something! Jesus, my God, it was ever the little that thou didst offer me, and that I ever scorned!