Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/402



My wings I open, my sails spread wide, And cleave like an eagle life's glassy tide; Gulls follow my furrow's foaming; Overboard with the ballast of care and cark; And what if I shatter my roaming bark, It is passing sweet to be roaming!

[starting from a reverie].

What, music? Ah, it will be Lind's quartette Getting their jubilation up.—Well met!

[To, ''who enters with an overcoat on his arm''.

Ah, slipping off, sir?

Yes, with your goodwill. But let me first put on my overcoat. We prose-folks are susceptible to chill; The night wind takes us by the tuneless throat. Good evening!

Sir, a word ere you proceed! Show me a task, a mighty one, you know—! I'm going in for life—!

[with ironical emphasis].

Well, in you go! You'll find that you are in for it, indeed.