BONIFACE.
Peace be to you, belovèd Carloman.
My prayers, though often offered on the earth
Of heathen lands, are yours at morn and night.
I never can forget you.
CARLOMAN.
Pepin, King!—
O Boniface, I think you said farewell.
You journey far and far; you see strange faces,
And woods where idols live in solitude,
Hamlets and forges, feasts, the glare of arms,
And great unpeopled plains so full of wind
It seems the owner, while the little trees
And grass are slaves: and thus you wander on
God’s messenger ... Ha, ha! The little trees
And grass!... Good-bye!
BONIFACE.
My child—
CARLOMAN.
[gently] Yes, Boniface?
BONIFACE.
Nothing. I can but bless you. Go, in peace.