92 James Christian Lindberg 



Karker. What shall I sing? 



Hakon. Sing what thou wilt, but rather one wherein the 

 words are wild and boisterous, as rain and hail in winter-storms. 

 A lullaby, slave! A lullaby! 



Karker. A lullaby? 



Hakon. Aye, that this grown-up child may slumber, lose him- 

 self in dreamland without a fear. 



Karker. I know a famous warrior-song-, mv lord. 



Hakon. Hath it a mournful ending? Doth it seem at first 

 'twould all be well, and ends at last in infamy and crime? 



Karker. No, my lord. It is sad at first. 



Hakon. I like it then. This turn that all' must open quietly 

 and joyfully, that sadder may seem the ending, is a loathsome 

 trick in all our poets. Let the early dawn be gray and dismal, 

 the worst does not surprise us then. Begin thy song. 



Karker. [Sings.] 



King Harald and Erling went sailing one night 

 By light of the moon and the wind's refrain. 

 But when they came to Oglogaard, 

 The doughty Jarl was slain.^" 



Hakon. How now, slave! Is all thy reason gone? Dost 

 sing to me my father's death-song? 



Karker. Why? Was Sigurd Jarl thy father? That I never 

 laiew before. Aye, thou 'rt right, he had a gloomy ending. 



Hakon. Hush ! 



Karker. There is not even a piece of matting here upon which 

 one can sleep, not to speak of straw. 



Hakon. If thou art sleepy stretch thyself upon the ground; 

 so have I done many a time. 



Karker. That I will with thy permission. 



Hakon. Sleep, sleep! [Karker throws himself upon the 

 ground and falls asleep; Hakon looks at him.] Torpid nature! 

 Asleep so soon? That tiny spark which proved thee to be a liv- 

 ing being and not a lump of inanimate clay, now smolders feebly 

 l^eneath a pile of ashes. Well for thee! Ah well for thee! 

 Here it is all aflame! Here it rages with a force that is uncon- 

 trollable. Didst thoii sing my father's death song, at this very 



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