How the lasses do swarm! Six or eight to a man!
Oh, galloping death,—I must join in the frolic!—
But how about mother, perched up on the mill-house——
[His eyes are drawn downwards again; he leaps and laughs.
Hei, how the Halling[[31]] flies over the green!
Ay, Guttorm, he can make his fiddle speak out!
It gurgles and booms like a foss[[32]] o’er a scaur.
And then all that glittering bevy of girls!—
Yes, galloping death, I must join in the frolic!
[Leaps over the fence and goes down the road.