SVANHILD. Men sligt er jo forbudt i vor tids lov. Nej, højt i sadlen! I min stille tanke jeg drømte tidt mig båren på dens ryg, jog ud i verden vidt, jog kæk og tryg, mens vinden slog som frihedsflag dens manke!
SVANHILD. But now such acts are clearly obsolete. No, no, I’ll mount his saddle! There’s my place! How often have I dreamt, in pensive ease, He bore me, buoyant, through the world apace, His mane a flag of freedom in the breeze!
