As God makes any songless soul, He sends
A little bird to be her friend of friends,
And sing for ever in her garden-croft.
Falk [picking up a stone].
Then must the owner and the bird be near,
Or its song’s squandered on a stranger’s ear.
Svanhild.
Yes, that is true; but I’ve discovered mine.
Of speech and song I am denied the power,
But when it warbles in its leafy bower,