GANDALF. [Vehemently.] Such a faith is craven; It is the faith which saps the hero's strength; 'Twas therefore that the great, heroic life Died feebly in the South!
BLANKA. But now suppose My craven faith, as you see fit to call it, Could be transplanted to your virgin soil,— I know full well, there would spring forth a mass Of flowers so luxuriant as to hide The naked mountain.
GANDALF. Let the mountain stand In nakedness until the end of time!
BLANKA. O! Take me with you!
GANDALF. What do you mean? I sail for home—
BLANKA. Well, I shall sail with you; For I have often traveled in my dreams To far-off Norway, where you live mid snow And ice and sombre woods of towering pines. There should come mirth and laughter in the hall, If I could have my say, I promise you; For I am merry;—have you any scald?
GANDALF. I had one, but the sultry Southern air Has loosened all the strings upon his harp,— They sing no longer—
BLANKA. Good! Then shall I be Your scald.
GANDALF. And you?—You could go with us there, And leave your father and your home?
BLANKA. [Laughing.] Aha! You think I meant it seriously?