  Scene: The rune-stone. A white-rose bush, beside it, in bloom; a flame on the altar; sunset. Enter Egil, alone. EGIL Put it away? To put all from me—all— Or else despoil! Renounce, or with a kiss Consume the bright seduction! Mar—relinquish, In either path, to suffer; yet to see Myself at last for what I am, to know The inexorable bars, the nudging rafters, The starry lych-gate and the pit of tears Of this my soul and penthouse.—And the escape! To know that I—myself the miracle I worshipped—am a god, a sovereign lord Of nature, powerful to make the bounds And marches of the heaven my petty fiefs Of mind,—yet what a god! A clawed usurper, That snatches from the shoulders of the gods The green and azure cloth of summer-time, This human tapestry of spring and harvest Star-wrought with sanguine hearts and golden sheaves, And tears it, tooth-meal, for a wolf’s lair.—This, [Supplicating the rune-stone.] O mystery, that made us two Yet one, resolve thyself and this and seal it! To put all, all away, or with a kiss consume? [Pausing, he breaks a white rose, and holding it near and nearer the altar-flame watches it—as though for a sign—till it scorches; then snatching it back, extinguishes the flame. While he is bending over thus, Thordis enters,—in her hands a rope of twined arbutus-flowers. All in white, she is very pale; approaching behind Egil, she watches over his shoulder the rose petals and the flame. Suddenly, throwing the rope of arbutus over his head, she winds it about him. Turning, he drops the rose, and they gaze at each other, anguished.] EGIL [After a silence.] Why have you left the body? THORDIS [Binding his arms down with the blossoms.] I have come To bring you back in chains to prison. EGIL Where— THORDIS I know a dungeon where the dead are not. EGIL Where—have you left the body? THORDIS They are bringing Their burden here. EGIL These flowers? THORDIS Arbutus. EGIL Those? And you could weave of those this chain for me? THORDIS Could weave a garland of a winding-sheet? I could; I did; and whilst I wove, I heard Above my head the small birds singing “Horror,” And underfoot “Horror” the sweet grass sang; But in my bosom sung, “He loves me.” EGIL Keep From me, lest thou be scorched. THORDIS Was he not gentle, Exalted, tender? Who that saw his smile But thought “A star breaks”?—Now for us all dark, A shape of clay. Oh, why should sudden love Come like the tempest, and blot out from skies Of memory all golden yesterdays? EGIL Is it not enough that I have spilled His blood upon my soul, but must that, more, Pollute the whiteness of a goddess’ heart And desecrate perfection? THORDIS [With a wan smile of pain, drawing him with the arbutus toward her.] Come—to prison. EGIL His blood, I said; did you not hear? Not Yorul— I murdered him! THORDIS You do not understand; It was not you; ’twas I. EGIL The hand of Yorul Stabbed him, but my intent. THORDIS You do not ask Where I’ve prepared your dungeon.—Come. EGIL Too late, You precious chains! I am free. THORDIS Thy words again! “Free, but alone, adrift!” I hear thee still, Forever, calling in thy need of me— “O take me back, the wild thing!” Come!—I take thee; I nestle thee once more, a captive. Come, Alone no more! EGIL It is too late. ’Tis he, Your god and lover, whom they are bringing back To claim you. THORDIS [Clinging to him.] Who shall claim me from your side? [Enter a procession of folk, virgins, and children, bearing a low bier, covered with a cloth of green, behind which walks Yorul, bound. Ingimund, who enters first, ascends, by the stone steps, the altar, before which the bier is set down. While this is being borne, the dirge continues.] VIRGINS AND CHILDREN [Chant.] Heiri! heiri! heiri! Othin ok Æsir! [Ingimund signs to a priest to loosen the hands of Yorul, who stands in front of the bier.] INGIMUND Give him the cup. The murderer shall drink The bane of murder. [The priest hands to Yorul a cup, which, as he raises it quietly to his lips, is wrenched from his hand by Egil, who embraces him.] EGIL My deliverer!— Brother, awake! I give thee back thy bride. [On the bier, the green cloth is thrown back, and Baldur, rising, steps upon the altar. Thordis gazes upon him.] This is my heart’s desire—take it! ’tis yours. BALDUR Freyja! THORDIS [With a wild cry, going to him.] Baldur! THE FOLK [Prostrating themselves.] The gods! the gods! [Thordis and Ingimund, by Baldur’s side, are transfigured, and a hedge of flowers and flame springs up before the altar, encircling the three.] EGIL [Apart, drinks from the cup.] To freedom! [Baldur and Thordis, clinging to each other, look at Egil.] YORUL [Staring at Baldur, speaks to Egil.] Whom, lord, dost thou name “brother”? EGIL Him—and thee, Both, for through me henceforward you are kindred. Yorul! my men, my liegemen! you—you also Conceived in chains and born in passion, you Also, who from an immemorial brute Rage for emancipation, oh, forget not Your brother Fenris, him who was brought forth A glorious miscarriage of the gods, To be exalted to a man. [He sinks upon the bier.] The chains! Yorul—the chains! [Striving to break the arbutus links, which hang loosely upon him, he falls back.] YORUL Master! ODIN The wolf is tamed. [In sudden fire, the gods disappear, leaving deep twilight. Vague, the body of Egil lies dead on the bier. Beside it, amid the prostrate folk, rising alone, stands Yorul, with arms upreached toward the rune-stone.] THE VIRGINS AND CHILDREN [Singing.] Heiri! heiri! heiri! Balthur ok Freyja! [Far off, the ice-crown of the volcano flushes in the afterglow.] Transcriber's Note: The cover image is in the public domain. Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected. 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