Yes, ’tis _there_—the same; The shadow in her eyes’ deep mirror sleeping, The roguish elf about her lips a-peeping, It is there. SVANHILD. _What_? You frighten me. FALK. Your name Is Svanhild? SVANHILD. Yes, you know it very well. FALK. But do _you_ know the name is laughable? I beg you to discard it from to-night! SVANHILD. That would be far beyond a daughter’s right— FALK [_laughing_]. Hm. “Svanhild! Svanhild!” [_With sudden gravity._ With your earliest breath How came you by this prophecy of death? SVANHILD. Is it so grim? FALK. No, lovely as a song, But for our age too great and stern and strong, How can a modern demoiselle fill out The ideal that heroic name expresses? No, no, discard it with your outworn dresses. SVANHILD. You mean the mythical princess, no doubt— FALK. Who, guiltless, died beneath the horse’s feet. SVANHILD. But now such acts are clearly obsolete. No, no, I’ll mount his saddle! There’s my place! How often have I dreamt, in pensive ease, He bore me, buoyant, through the world apace, His mane a flag of freedom in the breeze! FALK. Yes, the old tale. In “pensive ease” no mortal Is stopped by thwarting bar or cullis’d portal; Fearless we cleave the ether without bound; In practice, tho’, we shrewdly hug the ground; For all love life and, having choice, will choose it; And no man dares to leap where he may lose it. SVANHILD. Yes! show me but the end, I’ll spurn the shore; But let the end be worth the leaping for! A Ballarat beyond the desert sands— Else each will stay exactly where he stands. FALK [_sarcastically_]. I grasp the case;—the due conditions fail. SVANHILD [_eagerly_]. Exactly: what’s the use of spreading sail When there is not a breath of wind astir? FALK [_ironically_].