!"

Like balm the words fall upon his wounded spirit. The powers of
darkness, it seems, are to be defeated; the evil star, it seems,
has set and the star of hope arisen. "Ye angels," he calls to them,
"who had quite forsaken me, confirm her heart in its constancy!"
And she, her heavenly pity prays: "Let him have reached home at
last! Let his ship rest here eternally in port!"

Daland re-enters. "By your leave, my people outside can hardly
wait. Upon each home-coming, you must know, we hold a merry-making.
I would fain add to the cheer of the feast, and am come, with that
in mind, to ask if it might not be I made into a betrothal feast?--As
far as I see," he turns to the Hollander, "you have wooed to your
heart's purpose?--And you, my child," to Senta, "are you ready,
too?" Senta with solemn resolution reaches her hand to the Dutchman.
"Here is my hand, and here, never to repent it, I plight my troth
until death!" The Hollander, taking her hand, cries defiance to
the mockery of Hell through this fast truth of hers. At Daland's
summons thereupon, "To the feast, and let every one to-day make
merry!" the three turn to go and take share--even, incredibly,
the Dutchman,--in legitimate human rejoicings.

III

Close by Daland's house lies the rock-bound bay into which his ship
and the Dutchman's have come to anchor. The two crafts are seen in
the clear night, lying at a short distance from each other, hard by
the shore. The Norwegian is brightly illuminated, the sailors are
on deck making holiday. The Hollander presents a striking contrast:
not a light does it show, not a sound issues from it; it looms
shadowy and forbidding.

"Steersman, leave the watch!" sing the roistering Norway lads;
"Furl the sails! Anchor fast! Come along, steersman! No wind is
there to fear nor adverse coast, and we mean to be right jolly.
Each of us has a sweetheart on shore, excellent tobacco and superior
brandy-wine. Rocks and storms are far outside, we laugh at rocks
and storms! Steersman, come and drink!" They dance on deck, marking
time with their heavy boots.

From Daland's house comes the bevy of girls we know, laden with
generous baskets of food and drink. Finding their sweethearts so
merrily employed, "Just look at them!" they say; "As we live, they
are dancing! The ladies do certainly seem superfluous!" With a
playful feint of pique they pass without further notice the lighted,
noisy ship, and go toward the Hollander, whose blood-tin