BLANKA. Your oath is bloody, Balder hates it.
GANDALF. Yes, But Balder lives no longer with us now!
BLANKA. For you he lives; your soul is gentleness.
GANDALF. Yes, to my ruin! It became my task As king to keep intact our great ideal,— But I lack strength enough! Come, Asgaut, you Shall take the kingly sceptre from my hand; You are a warrior of the truest steel; On me the Southern plague has been at work. But if I cannot for my people live, I now can die for them.
ASGAUT. Well said, King Gandalf!
BLANKA. Then need no more be said! Die like a hero, Faithful and true unto the very end! But now that we must part forever,—know, That when you die yourself to keep your oath You are then likewise marking me for death!
GANDALF. What! You for death?
BLANKA. My life was like a flower, Transplanted in an unfamiliar soil, Which therefore slumbered in its prison folds: Then came a sunbeam from the distant home,— O, that was you, my Gandalf! Opened then The flower its calyx. In another hour, Alas! the sunbeam paled,—the flower died!
GANDALF. O, have I understood you right? You could? Then is my promise thrice unfortunate!
BLANKA. But we shall meet again!