Ing. Stay—I command you, slave!
Par. I am no slave! your hostage, but no slave. I go to cleanse the cups. [Exit l.
Ing. Ho! here’s a self-willed thing—here is a spirit! [Mimicking her. “I will not, I am no slave! I have duties to perform! Take me for hostage!” and she flung back her head As though she brought with her a ton of gold! “I’ll weep no more,”—Aha! an impudent thing. She pleases me! I love to be opposed; I love my horse when he rears, my dogs when they snarl, The mountain torrent, and the sea, when it flings Its foam up to the stars; such things as these Fill me with life and joy. Tame indolence Is living death! the battle of the strong Alone is life!
[During this speech Parthenia has returned with the cups and a bundle of field flowers. She seats herself on a piece of rock in front.
Ing. Ah! she is here again. (He approaches her, and leans over her on the rock.) What art thou making there?
Par. I? garlands.
Ing. Garlands? (Musing.) It seems to me as I before had seen her In a dream! How! Ah, my brother!—he who died A child—yes, that is it. My little Folko—She has his dark-brown hair, his sparkling eye: Even the voice seems known again to me; I’ll not to sleep—I’ll talk to her. [Returns to her. These you call garlands, And wherefore do you weave them?
Par. For these cups.
Ing. How?
Par. Is it not with you a custom? With us At home, we love to intertwine with flowers Our cups and goblets.