Dagny.
To-morrow wilt thou make ready thy ship and set forth for Iceland?
Örnulf.
[Without looking up.] What should I do there? Nay, I will to my sons. Dagny. [With pain.] Father! Örnulf. [Raises his head.] Go in and let me sit here; when the storm has played with me for a night or two, the game will be over, I ween. Sigurd. Thou canst not think to deal thus with thyself. Örnulf. Dost marvel that I fain would rest? My day's work is done; I have laid my sons in their grave-mound. [Vehemently.] Go from me!—Go, go! [He hides his face.
Sigurd.
[Softly, to Dagny, who rises.] Let him sit yet awhile.
Dagny.
Nay, I have one rede yet untried;—I know him. [To Örnulf.] Thy day's work done, say'st thou? Nay, that it is not. Thou hast laid thy sons in the grave;—but art thou not a skald? It is meet that thou should'st sing their memory.
Örnulf.
[Shaking his head.] Sing? Nay, nay; yesterday I could sing; I am too old to-day.
