Lies! It was never a steel-clad churl;
It’s only a fir-tree with fissured bark.—
It is heavy labour this hewing timber;
But the devil and all when you hew and dream too.—
I’ll have done with it all—with this dwelling in mist,
And, broad-awake, dreaming your senses away.—
You’re an outlaw, lad! You are banned to the woods.
[Hews for a while rapidly.
Ay, an outlaw, ay. You’ve no mother now
To spread your table and bring your food.