[To Quercus.]
And ever to your whistle
I pipe the last note from the nearest thistle.
[Tacita appears remotely.]
O beautiful my brothers!
O dryad dear, I thank you! In your dawn,
How brave it is to speak with Man and Faun
As mates and fellows. Quick! Fetch me still others.
[A crashing resounds in the thicket. Tacita disappears.]
Who’s coming now?