(Thoughtfully, looking down into the spring.)
And never will come back forevermore.
SELMA—Oh, yes it will. They will not let her grieve.
The fairies, when they trip the wood to-night,
Will miss her, for she dances with them there.
Oh, you should see them, Oswald. When they dance
She is no bigger than the fairies are.
To see them swing—
Oh, 'tis a sight to make the wood-dove gay.
(Circling round in a dance.)
Lightly whirling round and round
Through the forest, scarcely shaking
Flower stalk upon the ground.
In the leaves the violets waking
Scatter perfume. Fairies, bow;
Lift their purple hoods and kiss them.
Join the dance and leave them now. (Ecstatically.)
One night up in the wood, when silver flakes
Were dancing with the fairies on the moss,
An owl whooped. The fairies scampered off
Into the ferns. The little water elf
I found up close against a gnarled oak trunk,
Hid in a moss-pink in a drop of dew.
Oh, she was tiny as a fairykin!
Her hair was scattered, she was frightened so.
You should have seen her how she looked at me,
As if to say: "You here!" I nod, and then
We laugh together, thinking of the trick
The surly owl played. (Again she circles round in a dance.)
Oswald—(With horror.) This is enchantment!
This is the cursed spells of forest devils,
Witchcraft and Barrabam, the broth of Hell
And the wild mountain and the swirling sea!
(Advancing toward her, he reaches into his bosom and fetches forth a large silver crucifix fastened to a black string that encircles his neck.)