OSWALD-- But ere he went, Carved with his knife upon a tree a sign A good man in the wood had taught him, a charm Against the spirit of the forest. Then he Told her strange words to say and leaving her Kneeling upon the moss, her little hands Folded, he went away. (_A pause._) Not for himself. SELMA--And did he not come back? Tell me the rest. OSWALD--Come with me to the bridge. SELMA-- Did he come back? OSWALD--I have carved a charm. SELMA-- A charm? OSWALD-- For you. SELMA-- For me? (_A pause._) Where are you going, Oswald?--(_A pause._) See my hair. Why should it scare the fishes? You are wise; Why should it, Oswald? It is soft as hers Down in the spring, and if you'll come and look You'll see the smallest minnows twinkle there; They do not fear. OSWALD-- It is a snare. SELMA-- (_Naively._) Is it? I would not harm them, Oswald. OSWALD-- Father Paul says It is the snare of Satan. SELMA-- I know him. 'Tis not my hair he uses. OSWALD-- (_With horror._) Know Satan! (_He turns away._) SELMA--I did not know his name was--Ah, you run! You are just like the fishes. Come and play. I will not let it fall. (_Throwing back her hair._) I will just peep Over the edge. (_Going up the slope to where the boughs hang low, she begins to gather the green burrs. While she gathers them, she sings:_) _Hark, shepherd, hark; the forest calls_ _Away to the greenwood still._ _We'll leave the dewy wether-bell_ _To tinkle on the hill._ _Our ewes shall nibble gowan;_ _We'll gipsy in the wood;_ _Our bed shall be the wild plush moss;_ _Our cruse shall be the flood._ _The lush blue whortle-berries_ _We'll gather eve and morn_ _And we'll wander where the brocket_ _Rubs the velvet from his horn._ _Come, shepherd, come_-- I will not sing; the shepherd will not come. I'll go and call the forest children. (_She takes up her basket._) OSWALD-- Selma. SELMA--Night-bird hooting at noon! OSWALD-- Listen to me. SELMA--I'll listen to the jay; he's merrier. OSWALD--You are not of the witches that at night Fly through the air to that far windy crag That beetles o'er the foam of the wild sea And there, with orgies lewd to the black goat, Whirl in the revel with dark Barrabam?