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heart’s silent wish of the others. But yet a
little bird sings about it.
The thoughts of one flew over sea and
land, over the high mountains, where the mule
finds its way in the mists, down to Mignon’s
beautiful land, where the old gods live in marble
and painting. “Thither, thither! shall I ever
get there?” That was the wish, that was the
thought, and she opened her hand, looked at
the bound straws, and they appeare only two
and two bound together.
And where were the second one’s thoughts?
also in foreign lands, in the gunpowder’s smoke,
amongst the glitter of arms and cannons, with
him, the friend of her childhood, fighting for
imperial power, against the Hungarian people.
Will he return joyful and unharmed – return
to Sweden’s peaceful, well-constituted, happy
land? The straws showed no square: a tear
dwelt in the girl’s eye.
The third smiled: there was a sort of
mischief in the smile. Will out aged bachelor
and that old maiden-lady yonder, who now
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