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Early Plays — Catiline, the Warrior's Barrow, Olaf Liljekrans by Henrik Ibsen
page 44 of 328 (13%)
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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