_Paol._ I saw them even now. The sledge is ready, With the horse harnessed to’t; and, mother dear, We shall have such a long and quiet day,-- ’Twill be so happy! And oh, wilt thou tell me About thy home at Corinth, and the time When from the morning to the blessed eve Thou sangest to the music of thy lute; Or wander’dst out with kind and merry friends; Or tendedst thy sweet flowers;--and tell me too About the bright, blue, restless sea at Corinth-- And sing me songs and hymns in thy Greek tongue, And hear how I can sing them after thee-- Wilt thou, dear mother? _Ter._ I will indeed, my love! But hark! thy birds are chirping for their meal, Go, feed them, my sweet boy. _Paol._ Yes, I will feed them, And then there will be nothing all the day To take me from thy side! [_He goes out._ _Ter._ Thou dear, dear child! Thou happy, innocent spirit! ’Tis o’er payment, A rich o’er payment of my many woes, To see thee gather up such full enjoyment Within the narrowed limits of the good Which thy hard fortune gives thee! And no more Let me account myself forlorn and stripped, Whilst I have thee, my boy! But hark! here comes My husband! _Enter_ OLAF, _muffled in his hunting dress_. _Olaf._ Where’s the boy! I hunt to-day. _Ter._ Not in this storm, my husband! _Olaf._ In this storm. Where is the boy? I heard him here, just now. _Ter._ Why, why the boy? What dost thou want with him? _Olaf._ He shall go out with me on this day’s hunt. _Ter._ Oh no! not so--he must not go to-day! _Olaf._ Why, ’tis a puny, feeble-hearted thing, Whom thou hast fondled with and fooled, till nought Of a boy’s spirit is within his heart! But he shall go with me, and learn to dare The perils of the forest. _Ter._ But this once-- This once, my husband, spare him--and when next Thou goest to the hunt, he shall go with thee! _Olaf._ This day he shall go with me! Thou wouldst teach The boy rebellion! He shall go with me! _Ter._ Nay, say not so--he does not love the chase! _Olaf._ ’Tis me he does not love--and for good reason,-- Thou ever keep’st him sitting at thy side, A caded, dwindled thing that has no spirit! Look at the other children of the forest; They are brave, manly boys! _Ter._ Alas, my husband, Thou hast forgotten, ’tis a tender flower Transplanted to a cold, ungenial clime. _Olaf._ Say not another word! Thou hear’st my will! _Enter_ PAOLO; _he runs to his mother’s side_. _Ter._ Thy father wishes thee to hunt to-day. _Paol._ Oh, not to-day, dear mother! _Olaf._ And why not? It ever is the cry, “Oh not to-day!” I pr’ythee what new fancy’s in thy head, That thou canst not go with me?