Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 2).djvu/135



To-morrow wilt thou make ready thy ship and set forth for Iceland?

[Without looking up.] What should I do there? Nay, I will to my sons. [With pain.] Father! [Raises his head.] Go in and let me sit here; when the storm has played with me for a night or two, the game will be over, I ween. Thou canst not think to deal thus with thyself. Dost marvel that I fain would rest? My day's work is done; I have laid my sons in their grave-mound. [Vehemently.] Go from me!—Go, go! [He hides his face.

[Softly, to , who rises.] Let him sit yet awhile.

Nay, I have one rede yet untried;—I know him. [To ] Thy day's work done, say'st thou? Nay, that it is not. Thou hast laid thy sons in the grave;—but art thou not a skald? It is meet that thou should'st sing their memory.

[Shaking his head.] Sing? Nay, nay; yesterday I could sing; I am too old to-day.