His health from the silvery cup they drink,
The bride sits proudly enthroned at his side;
The candles of wax on the altar now wink,
Soon out to the church they will ride!
Within at the banquet sit host and guest
And laugh as they bandy the merry jest!
But here I must wander alone in the night,
Alas, they have all forsaken me quite!
Olaf! The storm is rending my hair!
The rain beats against me wherever I fare!
Olaf, Olaf! Can you see me thus languish
Beneath this unspeakable torture and anguish?
[She laughs.]
ALFHILD.
But rain or storm is a trifling thing,
'Tis as nothing beside the poignant sting
I suffer within my breast.—
My home and my father and all the rest
I left for Olaf, the friend I loved best!
He swore to me then I should be his bride!
And I came—God's love I felt in my soul;
But he drove me away, he thrust me aside;
So loudly he laughed when I writhed in dole!
While they banquet within, like a dog I must stay
Out here in the storm. Hence,—hence I will go!
[Starts to go, but stops.]
ALFHILD.
But I have not the power, I cannot go away;
Here must I stay and suffer my woe!
'Tis little the flowers out there in the wood
Can tear themselves up from the ground!
And Olaf, whether he be false or good,—
About him my roots I have wound.
[Pause.—The HOUSE SERVANTS come with torches from the left.]
ALFHILD. [As if seized by an uneasy presentiment.] Whither do you go? Whither, whither? What is going to happen?
A SERVANT. Why, see, see! It is Alfhild; she is still here!