THE DAUGHTER. Strange world, this!—How can he then be freed from his curse?
THE POET. Freed?—Oh, they take good care that none is set free.
THE DAUGHTER. Why?
THE POET. Because—No, it is not the Dutchman! It is an ordinary ship in distress. Why does not the buoy cry out now? Look, how the sea is rising—how high the waves are—soon we shall be unable to get out of the cave! Now the ship's bell is ringing—Soon we shall have another figure-head. Cry out, buoy! Do your duty, watchman! [The buoy sounds a four-voice chord of fifths and sixths, reminding one of fog horns] The crew is signalling to us—but we are doomed ourselves.
THE DAUGHTER. Do you not wish to be set free?
THE POET. Yes, of course—of course, I wish it—but not just now, and not by water.
THE CREW. [Sings in quartet] Christ Kyrie!
THE POET. Now they are crying aloud, and so is the sea, but no one gives ear.
THE CREW. [As before] Christ Kyrie!