Well, let us have the song.
Oan (facing the tribe):
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sa—sad.
But the stars are very white.
They whisper that the day shall return.
O stars; little pieces of the day!
Uk:
This is indeed madness. Hast thou heard a star whisper? Did Ul, thy father, tell thee that he heard the stars whisper when he was in the tree-top? And of what moment is it that a star be a piece of the day, seeing that its light is of no value? Thou art a fool!
Ok and Un:
Thou art a fool!
All the Tribe:
Thou art a fool!
Oan: