Nay, tho’ I took it to the highest place,— Judgment, I know, would be reversed by grace! I know two hearts can live a life complete, With hope still ardent, and with faith still sweet; You preach the wretched gospel of the hour, That the Ideal is secondary! STIVER. No! It’s primary: appointed, like the flower, To generate the fruit, and then to go. [_Indoors_, MISS JAY _plays and sings: “In the Gloaming.”_ STIVER _stands listening in silent emotion._ With the same melody she calls me yet Which thrilled me to the heart when first we met. [_Lays his hand on FALK’S arm and gazes intently at him._ Oft as she wakens those pathetic notes, From the white keys reverberating floats An echo of the “yes” that made her mine. And when our passions shall one day decline, To live again as friendship, to the last That song shall link that present to this past. And what tho’ at the desk my back grow round, And my day’s work a battle for mere bread, Yet joy will lead me homeward, where the dead Enchantment will be born again in sound. If one poor bit of evening we can claim, I shall come off undamaged from the game! [_He goes into the house._ FALK _turns towards the summer-house._ SVANHILD _comes out, she is pale and agitated. They gaze at each other in silence a moment, and fling themselves impetuously into each other’s arms._ FALK. O, Svanhild, let us battle side by side! Thou fresh glad blossom flowering by the tomb,— See what the life is that they call youth’s bloom! There’s coffin-stench of bridegroom and of bride; There’s coffin-stench wherever two go by At the street corner, smiling outwardly, With falsehood’s reeking sepulchre beneath, And in their blood the apathy of death. And this they think is living! Heaven and earth, Is such a load so many antics worth? For such an end to haul up babes in shoals, To pamper them with honesty and reason, To feed them fat with faith one sorry season, For service, after killing-day, as souls? SVANHILD. Falk, let us travel! FALK.