The horrible thought! Oh, why should it be
That wherever I go it follows me?
The phial--doth a secret contain;
A drop of this in my--enemy's cup,
And his life would sicken and wither up;
The leech's skill would be tried in vain.
[Again a silence.
Were I sure that Gudmund--held me dear--
Then little I'd care for--
[GUDMUND enters from the house.
GUDMUND.
You, Margit, here?
And alone? I have sought you everywhere.
MARGIT.
'Tis cool here. I sickened of heat and glare.
See you how yonder the white mists glide
Softly over the marshes wide?
Here it is neither dark nor light,
But midway between them--
[To herself.
--as in my breast.
[Looking at him.
Is't not so--when you wander on such a night
You hear, though but half to yourself confessed,
A stirring of secret life through the hush,
In tree and in leaf, in flower and in rush?
[With a sudden change of tone.
Can you guess what I wish?
GUDMUND.
Well?
MARGIT.
That I could be
The nixie that haunts yonder upland lea.
How cunningly I should weave my spell!
Trust me--!
GUDMUND.
Margit, what ails you? Tell!
MARGIT. [Paying no heed to him.]
How I should quaver my magic lay!
Quaver and croon it both night and day!
[With growing vehemence.
How I would lure the knight so bold
Through the greenwood glades to my mountain hold.
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