Wiglaf—Lose faith in Woden when the north wind blows?
Think the trunk dead because the boughs are bare?
Shall the bloom live forever, and the seed
Not swell and break its pod and find the earth?
Val-father sows and reaps and sows again.
Our race has come to harvest, and the hands
Of southern reapers have laid low the tribes,
Bound them in sheaves and stacked them far away
And threshed them out on many a bloody field.
Canzler—And the war-maidens have gleaned heroes there.
Wiglaf—Gleaned them and sown them in the earth again.
The years fall white upon the silent tribes.
Val-father's winter locks them in the ground.
(Looking up at the trees.)
But O, O chief, these, too, were once down there.
Canzler—The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout.
(Fritz bows his head and walks back among the trees.)
Rudolph— (From a pent-up heart.)
Shall it, Wiglaf?
Canzler— The bare North shall be green.
Wiglaf—Be red.