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 right and then quickly returns.
O pity! pity!
Falk [in passionate agitation].
No,—but eye for eye,
Svanhild, and tooth for tooth. Now you'll attend
No further greetings from your garden-friend,
No guerdon from the land of melody.
That is my vengeance: as you slew, I slay.
Svanhild.
I slew?
Falk.
You slew. Until this very day,
A clear-voiced song-bird warbled in my soul;
See,—now one passing bell for both may toll—
You've killed it!
