[Seizes her passionately in his arms.]
OLAF.
Farewell to the village below I say!
'Tis here that my bridal-bed I shall prepare;
Farewell to the world forever and ay,—
For here I shall hold my beautiful bride!
ALFHILD. [Moves away apprehensively.] Olaf!
OLAF. [Stops suddenly, as if seized with a vague and painful remembrance.]
My bride! What is it I say!
Tell me—when first—I happened this way—
Can you still remember the very first night?
What was it I sought?—No longer I know!
Did I come to fetch you—to—the village below?
Did I come the wedding guests to invite?
ALFHILD. What mean you? Wedding? I can't understand—?
OLAF.
Our betrothal at Guldvik was held, you remember!
For three weeks thereafter our wedding was planned—
But it seems to me that,—no, my brow like an ember
Burns hot! I will try no more to remember!
CHORUS. [Softly and far in the forest.]