Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/125

 We drink his health and sound his fame. I myself often feel inclined The spinnings of my brain to wind In flowery woof about his name, And edify the local mind. A little poetry pleases me, And all our folks, in their degree; But—moderation everywhere! In life it never must have share,— Except at night, when folks have leisure, Between the hours of seven and ten, When baths of elevating pleasure May fit the mood of weary men. Here's where we differ, you and we, That you desire with main and might At the same time to plough and fight. Your scheme, as far as I can see, Is: Life and Faith in unity,— God's warfare and potato-dressing Inseparably coalescing, As coal, salt, sulphur, fusing fast, Evolve just gunpowder at last.

Somewhat so.

Here you'll scheme in vain! Out in the great world that may stand;— Go thither with your big demand, And let us plough our moors and main.

Plough first your brag of old renown Into the main, and plough it down! The pigmy is not more the man For being of Goliath's clan.