Ay! she lamented loudly.  But thou shalt make thy half-sleep henceforth at the mouth of the cave, so that when Gurr the tiger cometh, thou shalt hear him sniff between the boulders, and shalt strike the flints, whose stare he hatest.  Gurr cometh nightly to the caves.

One of the Tribe:

Ay!  Gurr smelleth the Stone!

Uk:

Be still!

(To Ala)

Had he not become still, Ok and Un would have beaten him with their clubs....  But, Oan, tell us those words that were born to thee when Ala did weep.

Oan (arising):

They are wonderful words.  They are such: 

    The bright day is gone—­

Uk:

Now I see thou art liar as well as fool:  behold, the day is not gone!

Oan:

But the day was gone in that hour when my song was born to me.

Uk:

Then shouldst thou have sung it only at that time, and not when it is yet day.  But beware lest thou awaken me in the night.  Make thou many stars, that they fly in the whiskers of Gurr.

Oan:

My song is even of stars.

Uk:

It was Ul, thy father’s wont, ere I slew him with four great stones, to climb to the tops of the tallest trees and reach forth his hand, to see if he might not pluck a star.  But I said:  “Perhaps they be as chestnut-burs.”  And all the tribe did laugh.  Ul was also a fool.  But what dost thou sing of stars?

Oan:

I will begin again: 

    The bright day is gone. 
    The night maketh me sad, sad, sad—­

Uk:

Nay, the night maketh thee sad; not sad, sad, sad.  For when I say to Ala, “Gather thou dried leaves,” I say not, “Gather thou dried leaves, leaves, leaves.”  Thou art a fool!

Ok and Un:

Thou art a fool!

All the Tribe:

Thou art a fool!

Uk:

Yea, he is a fool.  But say on, Oan, and tell us of thy chestnut-burs.

Oan:

I will begin again: 

    The bright day is gone—­

Uk:

Thou dost not say, “gone, gone, gone!”

Oan:

I am thy cub.  Suffer that I speak:  so shall the tribe admire greatly.

Uk:

Speak on!

Oan:

I will begin once more: 

    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: