Chapter 24

[OLAF alone.]

OLAF. [Gazes out to the right.] As merry she is as the youthful roe, As it plays with no thought of the morrow; But soon will she wring her small hands in woe, And suffer in anguish and sorrow! Soon must I destroy the faith in her heart, And waken her out of her dreams. And then--yes, then we forever must part. Poor Alfhild! So bitter your fate to me seems!

OLAF. [Brooding.] What cared I for honor, what cared I for power, What mattered my race when I wandered with you! It seemed in your eyes was reflected a flower, More precious than any the world ever knew! Forgotten I had both struggle and strife, But since I again came home to this life, Since at table I sat in my father's hall, Since I went to answer my mother's call--

OLAF. [Abruptly.] 'Tis true from a noble race I am born, And Alfhild lives up in the mountains forlorn. In her I should find but a constant sorrow. I must tell her--yet, no, I can't let her know! Yet truly--I must--I must ere the morrow, She must hear what to me is the bitterest woe!

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