The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sad, sad--
_Uk:_
Said I not that "sad" should be spoken but once? Shall I set Ok and Un upon thee with their branches?
_Oan:_
But it was so born within me--even "sad, sad--"
_Uk:_
If again thou twice or thrice say "sad," thou shalt be dragged to the Stone.
_Oan:_
Owl Ow! I am thy cub! Yet listen:
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sad--
Ow! Ow! thou makest me more sad than the night doth! The song--
_Uk:_
Ok! Un! Be prepared!
_Oan (hastily):_
Nay! have mercy! I will begin afresh:
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sad.
The--the--the--
_Uk:_
Thou hast forgotten, and art a fool! See, Ala, he is a fool!
_Ok and Un:_
He is a fool!
_All the Tribe:_
He is a fool!
_Oan:_
I am not a fool! This is a new thing. In the past, when ye did chant, O men, ye did leap about the Stone, beating your b.r.e.a.s.t.s and crying, "Hai, hai, hai!" Or, if the moon was great, "Hai, hai! hai, hai, hai!" But this song is made even with such words as ye do speak, and is a great wonder. One may sit at the cave"s mouth, and moan it many times as the light goeth out of the sky.
_One of the Tribe:_
Ay! even thus doth he sit at the mouth of our cave, making us marvel, and more especially the women.
_Uk:_
Be still!... When I would make women marvel, I do show them a wolf"s brains upon my club, or the great stone that I cast, or perhaps do whirl my arms mightily, or bring home much meat. How should a man do otherwise? I will have no songs in this place.
_Oan:_
Yet suffer that I sing my song unto the tribe. Such things have not been before. It may be that they shall praise thee, seeing that I who do make this song am thy cub.
_Uk:_
Well, let us have the song.
_Oan (facing the tribe):_
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sa--sad.
But the stars are very white.
They whisper that the day shall return.
O stars; little pieces of the day!
_Uk:_
This is indeed madness. Hast thou heard a star whisper? Did Ul, thy father, tell thee that he heard the stars whisper when he was in the tree-top? And of what moment is it that a star be a piece of the day, seeing that its light is of no value? Thou art a fool!
_Ok and Un:_
Thou art a fool!
_All the Tribe:_
Thou art a fool!
_Oan:_
But it was so born unto me. And at that birth it was as though I would weep, yet had not been stricken; I was moreover glad, yet none had given me a gift of meat.
_Uk:_
It is a madness. How shall the stars profit us? Will they lead us to a bear"s den, or where the deer foregather, or break for us great bones that we come at their marrow? Will they tell us anything at all? Wait thou until the night, and we shall peer forth from between the boulders, and all men shall take note that the stars cannot whisper.... Yet it may be that they are pieces of the day. This is a deep matter.
_Oan:_
Ay! they are pieces of the moon!