MANLIUS.
Det ligner dem, de unge lette fugle.
Der sover de så roligt og så fast,
som var det moder-skødets trygge værn,
der dækked dem, og ej en vildsom skov.
De hviler sig, som om de vented på
at skulle vækkes til en munter leg
og ej til kamp, – måske den allersidste,
de får at kæmpe her.
MANLIUS.
Such is the way of young and buoyant souls.
They slumber on as peaceful and secure
As though embosomed in their mothers’ arms,
Instead of in a forest wilderness.
They rest as though they dream some merry game
Were held in store for them when they awake,
Instead of battle,--the last one, perchance,
That will be theirs to fight.
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