SCENE III
[GANDALF. BLANKA with oak leaves in her hair and a basket of flowers enters from the left.]
BLANKA. [Seated at the left busily weaving a flower wreath.] Fountains may murmur in the sunny vales, Resplendent billows roll beneath the shore; Nor fountain's murmur, nor the billow's song Has half the magic of those flowers there, That stand in clusters round the barrow's edge And nod at one another lovingly; They draw me hither during night and day,— And it is here I long to come and dream. The wreath is done. The hero's monument, So hard and cold, shall under it be hid. Yes, it is beautiful!
[Pointing to the mound.]
BLANKA. A vanished life, Of giant strength, lies mouldering in the ground,— And the memorial which should speak to men,— A cold unyielding stone like yonder one! But then comes art, and with a friendly hand She gathers flowers from the breast of nature And hides the ugly, unresponsive stone With snow-white lilies, sweet forget-me-nots.
[She ascends the barrow, hangs the wreath over the monument, and speaks after a pause.]
BLANKA. Again my dreams go sailing to the North Like birds of passage o'er the ocean waves; I feel an urging where I long to go, And willingly I heed the secret power, Which has its royal seat within the soul. I stand in Norway, am a hero's bride, And from the mountain peak watch eagle-like. O'er shining waves the vessel heaves in sight.— Oh, like the gull fly to your fatherland! I am a Southern child, I cannot wait; I tear the oaken wreath out of my hair,— Take this, my hero! 'Tis the second message I greet you with,—my yearning was the first.
[She throws the wreath. GANDALF steps forth and seizes it.]