Behold The dwarf, where he sits shrivelled by his harp. Ho, Arfi! hear’st thou Odin? Hast invited The trolls, thy cousins, to the bridal? WULDOR Silence! He listens to the stars behind the storm. YORUL The tree-frogs, Wuldor. He, thy master, is Their father. WULDOR So thy master is their uncle. YORUL My master shall be bridegroom, never fear! Hath Arfi slain his boar? WULDOR Hath Egil sung The slaying of his boar? YORUL Hath Arfi leashed
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