Early Plays — Catiline, the Warrior's Barrow, Olaf Liljekrans by Henrik Ibsen
page 44 of 328 (13%)
page 44 of 328 (13%)
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Peeps forth and bids us there to make our dwelling.
There let us flee and dedicate our life To rural duties and to sweet contentment;-- You will find comfort in a loving wife, And through her kisses banish all resentment. [Smiling.] AURELIA. And when with all the flowers of the land You come to me, your sovereign, in my bowers, Then shall I crown you with the laurel band, And cry, All hail to you, my king of flowers!-- But why do you grow pale? Wildly you press My hand,--and strangely now your eyes are glowing-- CATILINE. Aurelia, alas, past is your happiness;-- There we can never, never think of going. There we can never go! AURELIA. You frighten me! Yet, surely,--you are jesting, Catiline? CATILINE. I jest! Would only that it were a jest! Each word you speak, like the avenging dart Of Nemesis, pierces my heavy heart, Which fate will never grant a moment's rest. AURELIA. O gods! speak, speak! What do you mean? CATILINE. See here! |
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