Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/174

 In thinking is "the winged thought,"— That is to say—the thought that flutters. Farewell.

[Taking his hat.]

I have to see the band.

The what?

Just think, within our land This morning two of us laid hand On a foul-favour'd gipsy-horde, So I got help with rope and cord, And now they're in your neighbour's ward Next to the North, but—devil clip me!— If just a couple didn't slip me

The bells are ringing: Peace to Men.

Why came this hell-brood hither, then? Yet in a sense, they are, 'tis true, Kin to this parish,—

[Laughing.]

Nay to you. Hark to a riddle; read it right, If you have power and appetite. There be, who in effect derive From her, by whom you are alive, But owe their actual origin To coming of another kin.

[Shaking his head.]

O God, so many riddles rise Before our baffled, helpless eyes!