Sporting with crazy wenches:—
and accursed stuff!
[Gazes long upwards.
Yonder sail two brown eagles. Southward the wild geese fly. And here I must splash and stumble In quagmire and filth knee-deep!
[Springs up.
I'll fly too! I will wash myself clean in
The bath of the keenest winds!
I'll fly high! I will plunge myself fair in
The glorious christening-font!
I will soar far over the sæter;
I will ride myself pure of soul;
I will forth o'er the salt sea waters,
And high over Engelland's prince!
Ay, gaze as ye may, young maidens;
My ride is for none of you;
You're wasting your time in waiting—!
Yet maybe I'll swoop down, too.—
What has come of the two brown eagles—?
They've vanished, the devil knows where!—
There's the peak of a gable rising;
It's soaring on every hand;
It's growing from out the ruins;—
See, the gateway is standing wide!
Ha-ha, yonder house, I know it;
It's grandfather's new-built farm!
Gone are the clouts from the windows;
The crazy old fence is gone.
The lights gleam from every casement;
There's a feast in the hall to-night.
There, that was the provost clinking
The back of his knife on his glass;—
There's the captain flinging his bottle,
And shivering the mirror to bits.—
