ALFHILD.
Away in the distant and sunny domains,—
Where Olaf is, there must I be!
There stands his castle with golden hall!
From the ballads you sang his face I recall;
The king's son is he, the knight who can ride,
And I, the poor Alfhild,—I am his bride!
Poor, did I say,—no, the princess on high,
O, more than the princess,—his sweetheart am I!
[The wedding chorus is heard far down the mountain side.]
ALFHILD. Listen, he calls with his trumpet and horn!
Farewell now, forest and flower and thorn!
Farewell, my valley; you have cramped me too long,
The whole world is calling with laughter and song!
Tomorrow attired in gold I shall ride
Away to the church as Olaf's bride!
We shall sit on the throne of honor within—
Ah, now shall my life in its fulness begin!
[She rushes out to the left. THORGJERD gazes after her thoughtfully. The chorus dies away in the distance as the curtain falls.]