Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/225

 At that projected Tower of Babe How did the good folks prosper, pray? And why? The answer's clear as day; Their ranks divided, sort by sort, Each one his private language spoke, They drew not in the common yoke, Grew "Personalities," in short. That's half the twofold core that lies Embedded in this shell of fable;— That all strength, sever'd, is unstable, And death-doom'd who the world defies. When God desires a man to fall He makes him an Original; The Romans had it, 'faith, that God Made the man mad; but mad is odd, And oddness singleness, you know; Therefore who fights without a friend Must look to suffer in the end The fate that overtook the man Whom David posted in the van.

Yes, very likely: but what though? In Death I see not Overthrow. And is your faith quite firm and fast That had those builders spoken still One speech, and acted with one will, They would have piled the pinnacle Of Babel up to heaven at last?

To heaven? No, that is where it lies: No man gets quite to Paradise. There, see, we have the second core, Embedded in this shell of fable;— That every building is unstable Which to the starry heaven would soar!