Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 4).djvu/197

 d.
 * Still southward, southward clove my keel
 * the salt sea-currents through.
 * Where palms were swaying proud and fair,
 * a garland round the ocean-bight,
 * I set my ship afire.
 * I climbed aboard the desert ship,
 * a ship on four stout legs.
 * It foamed beneath the lashing whip-
 * oh, catch me; I'm a flitting bird;-
 * I'm twittering on a bough!
 * Anitra, thou'rt the palm-tree's must;
 * that know I now full well!
 * Ay, even the Angora goat-milk cheese
 * is scarcely half such dainty fare,
 * Anitra, ah, as thou!
 * [He hangs the lute over his shoulder, and comes forward.]
 * Stillness! Is the fair one listening?
 * Has she heard my little song?
 * Peeps she from behind the curtain,
 * veil and so forth cast aside?-
 * Hush! A sound as though a cork
 * from a bottle burst amain!
 * Now once more! And yet again!
 * Love-sighs can it be? or songs?-
 * No, it is distinctly snoring.-
 * Dulcet strain! Anitra sleepeth!
 * Nightingale, thy warbling stay!
 * Every sort of woe betide thee,
 * if with gurgling trill thou darest-
 * but, as says the text: Let be!
 * Nightingale, thou art a singer;
 * ah, even such an one am I.
 * He, like me, ensnares with music
 * tender, shrinking little hearts.