erience there.

FALK.
No doubt,--with seven nieces, each a wife--

MRS. HALM.
And each a happy wife--

FALK [with emphasis].
Ah, do we know?

GULDSTAD.
How!

MISS JAY.
Mr. Falk!

LIND.
Are you resolved to sow
Dissension?

FALK [vehemently].
Yes, war, discord, turmoil, strife!

STIVER.
What you, a lay, profane outsider here!

FALK.
No matter, still the battle-flag I'll rear!
Yes, it is war I mean with nail and tooth
Against the Lie with the tenacious root,
The lie that you have fostered into fruit,
For all its strutting in the guise of truth!

STIVER.
Against these groundless charges I protest,
Reserving right of action--

MISS JAY.
Do be still!

FALK.
So then it is Love's ever-running rill
That tells the widow what she once possess'd,--
Out of her language blotted "moan" and "sigh"!
So then it is Love's brimming tide that rolls
Along the placid veins of wedded souls,--
That very Love that faced the iron sleet,
Trampling inane Convention under feet,
And scoffing at the impotent discreet!
So then it is Love's beauty-kindled flame
That keeps the plighted from the taint of time
Year after year! Ah yes, the very same
That made our young bureaucrat blaze in rhyme!
So it is Love's young bliss that will not brave
The voyage over vaulted Ocean's wave,
But asks a sacrifice when, like the sun,
Its face should fill with glory, making one!
Ah no, you vulgar prophets of the Lie,
Give things the names we ought to know them by;
Call widows' passion--wanting what they miss,
And wedlock's habit--call it what it is!

STRAWMAN.
Young man, this insolence has gone too far!
In every word there's scoffing and defiance.
[Goes close up to FALK.
Now I'll gird up my aged loins to war
For hallowed custom against modern science!

FALK.
I go to battle as it were a feast!

STRAWMAN.
Good! For your bullets I will be a beacon:--
[Nearer.
A wedded pair is holy, like a priest--

STIVER [at FALK's other side].
And a betrothed--

FALK.
Half-holy, like the deacon.

STRAWMAN.
Behold these children;--see,--this little throng!
_Io triumphe_ may for them be sung!
How was it possible--how practicable--:
The words of truth are strong, inexorable--;
He has no hearing whom they cannot move.
See,--every one of them's a child of Love--!