DAGNY. To-morrow wilt thou make ready thy ship and set forth for
Iceland?
ORNULF (without looking up). What should I do there? Nay, I will
to my sons.
DAGNY (with pain). Father!
ORNULF (raises his head). Go in and let me sit here; when the storm has played with me for a night or two, the game will be over, I ween.
SIGURD. Thou canst not think to deal thus with thyself.
ORNULF. Dost marvel that I fain would rest? My day's work is done;
I have laid my sons in their grave. (Vehemently.) Go from me!—Go, go!
(He hides his face.)
SIGURD (softly, to DAGNY, who rises). Let him sit yet a while.
DAGNY. Nay, I have one rede yet untried;—I know him. (To Ornulf.) Thy day's work done, say'st thou? Nay, that it is not. Thou hast laid thy sons in the grave;—but art thou not a skald? It is meet that thou should'st sing their memory.
ORNULF (shaking his head). Sing? Nay, nay; yesterday I could sing;
I am too old to-day.