it notI am as a barren woman. Therefore I love Håkon's kingly thought-child, love it with the warmest passion of my soul. Oh, that I could but adopt[1] it! It would die in my hands. Which were best, that it should die in my hands, or wax great in his? Should I ever have peace of soul if that came to pass? Can I forgo all? Can I stand by and see Håkon make himself famous for all time! How dead and empty is all within me—and around me. No friend—; ah, the Icelander! [Goes to the door and calls:] Has the skald gone from the palace?
A Guard.
[Outside.] No, my lord; he stands in the outer hall talking with the watch.
King Skule.
Bid him come hither. [Goes forward to the table; presently Jatgeir enters.] I cannot sleep, Jatgeir; 'tis all my great kingly thoughts that keep me awake, you see.
Jatgeir.
'Tis with the king's thoughts as with the skald's, I doubt not. They fly highest and grow quickest when there is night and stillness around.
King Skule.
Is it so with the skald's thoughts too?
Jatgeir.
Ay, lord; no song is born by daylight; it may be written down in the sunshine; but it makes itself in the silent night.
- ↑ Knœsœtte, see note, p. 19.
