blossom'd to excess last season,
You must not crave the blossoms back in this.

FALK.
I knew you'd find your footing in the ways
Of old romance.

SVANHILD.
Yes, modern virtue is
Of quite another stamp. Who now arrays
Himself to battle for the truth? Who'll stake
His life and person fearless for truth's sake?
Where is the hero?

FALK [looking keenly at her].
Where is the Valkyria?

SVANHILD [shaking her head].
Valkyrias find no market in this land!
When the faith lately was assailed in Syria,
Did you go out with the crusader-band?
No, but on paper you were warm and willing,--
And sent the "Clerical Gazette" a shilling.

[Pause. FALK is about to retort, but checks
himself, and goes into the garden.

SVANHILD [after watching him a moment, approaches
him and asks gently:
Falk, are you angry?

FALK.
No, I only brood,--

SVANHILD [with thoughtful sympathy].
You seem to be two natures, still at feud,--
Unreconciled--

FALK.
I know it well.

SVANHILD [impetuously].
But why?

FALK [losing self-control].
Why, why? Because I hate to go about
With soul bared boldly to the vulgar eye,
As Jock and Jennie hang their passions out;
To wear my glowing heart upon my sleeve,
Like women in low dresses. You, alone,
Svanhild, you only,--you, I did believe,--
Well, it is past, that dream, for ever flown.--

[She goes to the summer-house and looks out;
he follows.

You listen--?

SVANHILD.
To another voice, that sings.
Hark! every evening when the sun's at rest,
A little bird floats hither on beating wings,--
See there--it darted from its leafy nest--
And, do you know, it is my faith, as oft
As God makes any songless soul, He sends
A little bird to be her friend of friends,
And sing for ever in her garden-croft.

FALK [picking up a stone].
Then must the owner and the bird be near,
Or its song's squandered on a stranger's ear.

SVANHILD.
Yes, that is true; but I've discovered mine.
Of speech and song I am denied the power,
But when it warbles in its leafy bower,
Poems flow in upon my brain like wine--
Ah, yes,--they fleet--they are not to be won--

[FALK throws the stone. SVANHILD screams.

O God, you've hit it! Ah, what have you done!

[She hurries out to the the right and then
quickly returns.

O pity! pity!

FALK [in passionate ag