The Mother:
No, not me, though. I don’t want to go. I could never do it. I don’t want to go anywhere. I can’t; I dare not go from here
The Father:
Why, we have lost our child here, and there is nothing here to make me forget. Even a bird—a creature tiny of heart and with tearless eyes—when death has taken away its young, leaves the bereaved nest and flies to a distant place.
The Mother:
No, I beg of you, no. The bird—a creature small of heart and with unweeping eyes—has its wings, has its resounding song and a wide home amid the flowers. But I have no wings. Oh, happy is the bird’s lot, while I, luckless one, I pray you, have pity on me! The bird’s soul is small, yet it has wings, but we have lost our child and here is his grave. A bird has its wide home amid all flowers and its element is the airy horizon. But my flowers and horizon are yonder tomb in the graveyard. I beseech you, I cannot go away
The Man with the Spade:
Do not urge her any more, for in truth she mourns more sorrowfully than a bird. It is woeful to hear. With all my heart I wish both of you strength and comfort. God comfort you.
[Exeunt the Father and Mother.
The Man with the Spade:
A sad thing—sad indeed. But I am alone and have no ties here. I am free to prepare for departure, that I may seek my fortune in the New Land. It is
