CANZLER--What is this thing that says, "Accept this Faith," But the same thing that to our fathers said, "Accept this Law"? It is the same old Rome. The snake hath cast her skin but not her fangs. Witness the rivers red. Witness the charred Track of the dragon and these silent lands. Has she not gathered flesh? Has she not clothed Her limbs and filled her bowels with the North? Climb to the clouds and call the Saxon race And who will answer? Silence. RUDOLPH-- And the streams Moaning and hurrying red waves to the sea. CANZLER--There is a day that would but cannot die. That day-- MAX AND RUDOLPH--At Verden. CANZLER-- When our fathers died Unarmed, defenceless, butchered, Hartzel. Ah, that day hides her face among the years But cannot hide her hand. Val-father has-- (_Closing his fingers._) Her wrist in his grasp and holds that hand aloft To drip and rouse the North, and it shall drip Till Ragnarok shall swallow it up at last And vomit it out to bleed forevermore. Four thousand and five hundred in one day! Till set of sun, all day the axes swang, And when night fell the Aller's waters slipped Thick through the headless bodies in her bed. Oh, for once more a day like Dachtelfeld! (_He turns away._) RUDOLPH--Val-father's spear shall flash again, Canzler. There shall a horn wind that shall rouse the tribes And strew those bones again. FRITZ-- Let's wind it now. HARTZEL (_To Canzler._)--Do you think we should leave here? RUDOLPH-- Yes. FRITZ-- No. MAX-- No. Our Wittikind shall come and-- CANZLER-- They shall hear The North's great hammer ringing round the world. Max, you tell Conrad that we meet to-night. Have Herman come. (_Max goes out left._) And, Rudolph, you go down-- HARTZEL-- (_Touching, him with his staff_.) Canzler, you said just now the point was not What they have done. CANZLER-- Nor is it. HARTZEL-- Then why this Summoning of the men? Are we to have war? (_Fritz and Rudolph, talking together, walk back among the trees._) CANZLER--Hartzel, the past and present are two limbs On one tree. Though the one bears withered leaves And these on this around us here are green, The trunk is the same; the sap is the same; The new fruit is the old fruit. What to-day Is Wiglaf fleeing to the ocean isles But the whole Saxon race? What is his harp In ashes but our homes and all this land? Are those graves yonder old? Were these, our scars, (_Opening his bosom._)