Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/49



Nay, A shadowing cloud; and now 'tis past.

The wind is cold!

Only a blast That hurried by. Here lies our way.

Yon mountain southward, sure, till now, Wore not that black and beetling brow.

Thou saw'st it not for game and glee Ere with his cry he startled thee. Let him pursue his toilsome track, And we will to our gambols back!

No, now I'm weary.

And indeed I'm weary too, to tell the truth,— And here our footing asks more heed Than on yon upland broad and smooth. But once we're on the level plain We'll dance defiantly once more, Ay, in a tenfold wilder vein And tenfold swifter than before. See Agnes, yon blue line that sparkles, Fresh from the young sun's morning kiss, And now it dimples and now darkles, Silver one moment, amber this;