_Hunt._ The wolves are here! Hark, hark! their barking comes Upon the passing wind! _Paol._ Oh, they are here! _Olaf._ How can we ’scape from them? I’ll sell my life Dearly for this child’s sake! _Hunt._ Throw them the child! And while they gorge on him, we can escape. _Olaf._ Thou devil of hell! _Paol._ Sweet father, do it not! [_The wolves surround them; and the hunter snatching up Paolo throws him among them._ _Paol._ Oh father, father, save me! _Olaf._ My boy! my boy! _Hunt._ It is too late--they tear him limb from limb! Now for escape! Run, run, and we shall reach A place of safety! [_He darts forward._ _Olaf._ God in heaven! my boy-- My gentle-hearted boy! my murdered boy! [_He dashes among the wolves with his hunting knife, and then springs forward after the hunter._ SCENE VI. _Night--the interior of Olaf’s house--Teresa alone--a bright fire burns on the hearth--refreshments are set out, and clothes hanging by the fire for Olaf and Paolo._ _Teresa._ How late it is! an hour beyond the midnight! And bitter cold it is! The icy wind Even pierces through these walls! Poor little Paolo, How weary and half-frozen he will be: But he shall sit upon the bench beside me, And I will hold his hands, and lay his head Upon my knee; it is his dear indulgence-- Poor child, and he shall have it all to-night! [_She puts fresh logs on the fire._ And this is the third time I have renewed The wasting fire! and when I piled at first, “My Paolo will be here,” I said, “before These logs shall have burned through!” but, now alas, I know not what to say, saving the wonder That he comes not, and even this is grown A kind of vague despair, that seems to threaten He will not come at all! Oh, if aught happen Save good unto the child, like poor old Jacob, Then should I be bereaved! _Enter_ HULDA, _with a very dejected countenance; she takes down_ PAOLO’S _clothes, and folds them up_. _Ter._ Nay, how is this? _Huld._ He will not need them more? _Ter._ Woman, what say’st thou? _Huld._ Two hunters from the icebergs are come down-- Ere long thy husband comes. _Ter._ And not my boy? _Hulda._ [_laying the clothes together._] He will not need these more! _Ter._ Then he is dead! _Huld._ Alas, dear lady, yes! _Ter._ Peace, woman! peace! The earth were less forlorn without the sun, Than I without my boy! He is not dead! _Huld._ Would God he were not! _Ter._ Do not say he is! It is like blasphemy to say he’s dead. Heaven would not strip me so--O do not say it! Where are these men? I’ll forth and meet my boy!