aptain, go
ashore! Seven years are over, sue for the hand of a golden-haired
maiden. Golden-haired maiden, be true to him, be true! Cheerily,
cheerily, bridegroom, today! The storm-wind howls wedding-music, the
ocean dances to the tune.--Hui! Hark! His whistle sounds. Captain,
are you back again?--Hui! Hoist the sail! Your bride, say, where
is she?--Hui! Off, to sea! Captain, captain, you have no luck in
love! Ha, ha, ha! Blow, storm-wind, howl away! No damage can you
do to our sails! Satan has charmed them, they will not rend in
all eternity!"

The Norwegian sailors, suspending their own clamour, have looked
and listened in an increasing wonder, which gradually turns to
horror. To overcome the superstitious fear they frankly own to,
they start singing together with all their might, to drown their
terror as well as the voices of the rival singers. The two sharply
contrasting sea-songs strive one against the other for a few moments,
then the Norwegians, giving up the contention, retire from deck to the
last man, tremulously making the sign of the cross. As they disappear
below, the Dutchmen break into a fearful yell of derision,--and
instantly darkness and complete silence reinvade the ship, while
perfect calm falls upon the sea. For a long interval the scene
so crowded and noisy a moment before, remains empty and still.

Senta comes hurriedly from the house, followed by Erik, both in
great agitation. He has learned of her betrothal to the stranger.
"What have I heard?" he cries in incredulous anguish; "O God, what
have I seen? Is it a delusion? Can it be truth? Can it be fact?"--"Ask
not, Erik," she falters, in anguish, too; "I must not answer."--"Just
God! There can be no doubt of it. It is truth! What unholy power
swept you along? What force so quickly prevailed with you to make
you break this devoted heart? Was it your father? Ha, he brought
the bridegroom home with him. I recognised him. I forboded what
is coming to pass. But you? Is it possible? You give your hand
to the man who has hardly more than crossed your doorstep?"--"Oh,
say no more!" pleads the girl, torn by the sight of his sorrow,
and her necessity to refuse the only possible comfort, "Be silent!
I must! I must!..."--"Oh, that docility, blind as your act!" he
raves; "You were glad, at a beck from your father, to follow. With
a blow you crush the life out of my heart!"--"No more! No more!"
she tries to stop him; "I must not see you again, must not thin