RUDOLPH-- We--?
FRITZ-- We have our swords.
RUDOLPH--We have them now.
FRITZ-- And we can keep them.
RUDOLPH-- We
Can neither keep our swords nor keep ourselves.
Who is it plants the white cross in our land?
The Frank? The Wend? The Saxon; we ourselves.
No; in that fire that burns up from the south
Thousands of our swords have melted and become
Scales on the dragon's back and teeth and claws
That now tear out our hearts. To-day swords strike
For Woden, and to-morrow the strange god
With those same swords storms Valhal, and lays low
Its golden roof. Our ash Iggdrasil dies.
Its beautiful leaves fall far off on the sea.
FRITZ--Let's kill the worm that bites it, then.
RUDOLPH-- That worm
Hath bit the Northman and the Northman bites
Val-father.
(_A crash is heard in the forest._)
FRITZ-- It was the tree fell.
RUDOLPH-- So falls
Iggdrasil and the golden roof comes down.
When the North bites, Val-father dies. No, Fritz;
The South has thrown a snake upon the North,
And in its trail no fairy can be found.
They, too, have gone to the mountains.
FRITZ-- Leave our homes?
RUDOLPH--For all of us it will be better there.
The slopes are thickly clothed with oak and pine.
There, too, your flock will find good grazing, Fritz.
Conrad and I saw ledges thick with grass.
FRITZ--It's thick here, too.
RUDOLPH-- And torrents tumbling down
Fill to the brim the basins of the rocks.
There, in the dryest season--
FRITZ-- Look down here. (_He points down in the stream._)
And this mid-summer.
RUDOLPH-- And game is plentiful.