And Hans came down, as cattle drop,
Across the broken chairs.
In Anne of Austria's trembling hands
The weary head fell low
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight
For Besser in Saro;
Und there Ultruda comes to me
At Easter, und I go
"South, down the Cattegat—What's here?
There—are—no—lights—to—guide!"