Early Plays - Catiline, the Warrior's Barrow, Olaf Liljekrans Part 27

But you, King Gandalf, you are young and strong; And wheresoe'er you roam in distant lands, Remember that it is a royal task To guard the people and defend the G.o.ds!

[He follows the rest.]

GANDALF. [After a pause.] Hm, he has no great confidence in me.

'Tis well he went! Whenever he is near, It is as if a burden weighed me down.

The grim old viking with his rugged face,-- He looks like Asathor, who with his belt Of strength and Mjolnir stood within the grove, Carved out in marble, near my father's home.

My father's home! Who knows, alas! how things Around the ancient landmarks now may look!-- Mountains and fields are doubtless still the same; The people--? Have they still the same old heart?

No, there is fallen mildew o'er the age, And it is that which saps the Northern life And eats away like poison what is best.

Well, I will homeward,--save what still is left To save before it falls to utter ruin.

GANDALF. [After a pause during which he looks around.]

How lovely in these Southern groves it is; My pine groves can not boast such sweet perfume.

[He perceives the mound.]

GANDALF. What now? A warrior's grave? No doubt it hides A countryman from those more stirring days.

A warrior's barrow in the South!--'Tis only just; It was the South gave us our mortal wound.

How lovely it is here! It brings to mind One winter night when as a lad I sat Upon my father's knee before the hearth, The while he told me stories of the G.o.ds, Of Odin, Balder, and the mighty Thor; And when I mentioned Freya's grove to him, He pictured it exactly like this grove,-- But when I asked him something more of Freya, What she herself was like, the old man laughed And answered as he placed me on my feet, "A woman will in due time tell you that!"

GANDALF. [Listening.]

Hus.h.!.+ Footsteps in the forest! Quiet, Gandalf,- They bring the first fruits of your blood-revenge!

[He steps aside so that he is half concealed among the bushes to the right.]

SCENE III

[GANDALF. BLANKA with oak leaves in her hair and a basket of flowers enters from the left.]

BLANKA. [Seated at the left busily weaving a flower wreath.]

Fountains may murmur in the sunny vales, Resplendent billows roll beneath the sh.o.r.e; Nor fountain's murmur, nor the billow's song Has half the magic of those flowers there, That stand in cl.u.s.ters round the barrow's edge And nod at one another lovingly; They draw me hither during night and day,-- And it is here I long to come and dream.

The wreath is done. The hero's monument, So hard and cold, shall under it be hid.

Yes, it is beautiful!

[Pointing to the mound.]

BLANKA. A vanished life, Of giant strength, lies mouldering in the ground,-- And the memorial which should speak to men,-- A cold unyielding stone like yonder one!

But then comes art, and with a friendly hand She gathers flowers from the breast of nature And hides the ugly, unresponsive stone With snow-white lilies, sweet forget-me-nots.

[She ascends the barrow, hangs the wreath over the monument, and speaks after a pause.]

BLANKA. Again my dreams go sailing to the North Like birds of pa.s.sage o'er the ocean waves; I feel an urging where I long to go, And willingly I heed the secret power, Which has its royal seat within the soul.

I stand in Norway, am a hero's bride, And from the mountain peak watch eagle-like.

O'er s.h.i.+ning waves the vessel heaves in sight.-- Oh, like the gull fly to your fatherland!

I am a Southern child, I cannot wait; I tear the oaken wreath out of my hair,-- Take this, my hero! 'Tis the second message I greet you with,--my yearning was the first.

[She throws the wreath. GANDALF steps forth and seizes it.]

BLANKA. What's this? There stands a--

[She rubs her eyes and stares amazed at him.]

No, it is no dream.

Who are you, stranger? What is it you seek Here on the sh.o.r.e?

GANDALF. Step first from off the mound,-- Then we can talk at ease.

BLANKA. [Comes down.] Well, here I am!

BLANKA. [Aside as she looks him over.]

The chain mail o'er his breast, the copper helmet,-- Exactly as my father has related.

BLANKA. [Aloud.] Take off your helmet!

GANDALF. Why?

BLANKA. Well, take it off!

BLANKA. [Aside.]

Two sparkling eyes, locks like a field of grain,-- Exactly as I saw him in my dream.

GANDALF. Who are you, woman?

BLANKA. I? A poor, poor child!

GANDALF. Yet certainly the fairest on the isle.

BLANKA. The fairest? That indeed is possible, For here there's no one else.

GANDALF. What,--no one else?

BLANKA. Unless my father be,--but he is old And has a silver beard, as long as this; No, after all I think I win the prize.

GANDALF. You have a merry spirit.

BLANKA. Not always now!

GANDALF. But tell me, pray, how this is possible; You say you live alone here with your father, Yet I have heard men say most certainly The island here is thickly populated?

BLANKA. It was so once, three years ago or more; But,--well, it is a sad and mournful tale-- Yet you shall hear it if you wish.

GANDALF. Yes, certainly!

BLANKA. You see, three years ago--

[Seats herself.]