HEMMING.
His wedding tomorrow his people prepare;
Yet for his betrothed he seems little to care;
’Tis little he knows that she is so near,
And less that she holds another one dear!--
He wanders around in the forest astray,
And Ingeborg gave me the golden ring!
His mother I’ll seek without further delay;
The saints only know what the morrow will bring!
[Goes out to the left.]