Shadowing downward came dusky evening,Wildly the breakers rolled,I sat alone upon the shore and gazedAt the white dance of the waves.And my bosom heaved with the sea,A deep homesickness yearningly seized my heartFor thee, oh lovely image,Who surround'st me everywhere,Who call'st to me everywhere,Everywhere, everywhere,In the rushing of the wind, in the dashing of the sea,And in the sighing of mine own breast.With a slender reed I wrote upon the sand,"Agnes, I love thee!"But the wicked waves came overflowingThat sweet confession,And blotted it out.Oh brittle reed! oh swiftly-scattered sand!Oh flowing waves, I trust you no more!The heavens grow darker, my heart beats more wildly,And with a mighty hand, from the Norwegian woods,I snatch the loftiest fir,And I plunge itInto Etna's glowing gulf;And, with such a fire-steeped giant's pen,I write on the dusky canopy of heaven,"Agnes, I love thee!"Each night hereafter overhead shall blazeThose eternal letters of flame.And all future generations of our descendantsShall joyously read the celestial sign,"Agnes, I love thee!"
Shadowing downward came dusky evening,Wildly the breakers rolled,I sat alone upon the shore and gazedAt the white dance of the waves.
And my bosom heaved with the sea,A deep homesickness yearningly seized my heartFor thee, oh lovely image,Who surround'st me everywhere,Who call'st to me everywhere,Everywhere, everywhere,In the rushing of the wind, in the dashing of the sea,And in the sighing of mine own breast.
With a slender reed I wrote upon the sand,"Agnes, I love thee!"But the wicked waves came overflowingThat sweet confession,And blotted it out.
Oh brittle reed! oh swiftly-scattered sand!Oh flowing waves, I trust you no more!The heavens grow darker, my heart beats more wildly,And with a mighty hand, from the Norwegian woods,I snatch the loftiest fir,And I plunge itInto Etna's glowing gulf;And, with such a fire-steeped giant's pen,I write on the dusky canopy of heaven,"Agnes, I love thee!"
Each night hereafter overhead shall blazeThose eternal letters of flame.And all future generations of our descendantsShall joyously read the celestial sign,"Agnes, I love thee!"
The ocean hath its pearls,The heaven hath its stars,But oh, my heart, my heart,My heart hath its love.Great are the sea and the heavens,But greater is my heart.And fairer than pearls or starsGlistens and glows my love,Thou little, youthful maiden,Come unto my mighty heart.My heart, and the sea, and the heavensAre melting away with love.
The ocean hath its pearls,The heaven hath its stars,But oh, my heart, my heart,My heart hath its love.
Great are the sea and the heavens,But greater is my heart.And fairer than pearls or starsGlistens and glows my love,
Thou little, youthful maiden,Come unto my mighty heart.My heart, and the sea, and the heavensAre melting away with love.
On the azure vault of heaven,Where the beauteous stars are shining,I am fain to press my lips now,Wildly press midst stormy weeping.Yonder myriad stars the eyes areOf my darling, and they twinkle,And they beckon to me kindlyFrom the azure vault of heaven.Towards the azure vault of heaven,Towards the eyes of my belovèd,Piously mine arms uplifting,Thus I supplicate and worship;Lovely eyes, ye lights of heaven,Graciously my soul inspire—Let me die and let me win you,You and all your spacious heavens.
On the azure vault of heaven,Where the beauteous stars are shining,I am fain to press my lips now,Wildly press midst stormy weeping.
Yonder myriad stars the eyes areOf my darling, and they twinkle,And they beckon to me kindlyFrom the azure vault of heaven.
Towards the azure vault of heaven,Towards the eyes of my belovèd,Piously mine arms uplifting,Thus I supplicate and worship;
Lovely eyes, ye lights of heaven,Graciously my soul inspire—Let me die and let me win you,You and all your spacious heavens.
From the eyes of heaven yonder,Golden sparks fall trembling downward,Through the night. My soul dilateth,Filled and overfilled with passion.Oh ye eyes of heaven yonder,Weep yourselves to death within me!Till my spirit overflowethWith the radiant starry tear drops.
From the eyes of heaven yonder,Golden sparks fall trembling downward,Through the night. My soul dilateth,Filled and overfilled with passion.
Oh ye eyes of heaven yonder,Weep yourselves to death within me!Till my spirit overflowethWith the radiant starry tear drops.
Cradled by the waves of ocean,And by drowsy thoughts and visions,Still I lie within the cabin,In my berth so dark and narrow.Through the open hatchway yonder,I can see the stars clear shining.The belovèd eyes so gentle,Of my gentle well-belovèd.The belovèd eyes so gentleHold above my head their vigil;And they glimmer and they beckonFrom the azure vault of heaven.On the azure vault of heaven,Still I gaze through blessed hours,Till a white and filmy vaporVeils from me those eyes belovèd.
Cradled by the waves of ocean,And by drowsy thoughts and visions,Still I lie within the cabin,In my berth so dark and narrow.
Through the open hatchway yonder,I can see the stars clear shining.The belovèd eyes so gentle,Of my gentle well-belovèd.
The belovèd eyes so gentleHold above my head their vigil;And they glimmer and they beckonFrom the azure vault of heaven.
On the azure vault of heaven,Still I gaze through blessed hours,Till a white and filmy vaporVeils from me those eyes belovèd.
Against the wooden wall of the shipWhere my dreaming head reclines,Break the waves, the wild sea-waves.They whisper and murmurClose into mine ear:"Oh foolish young fellow,Thine arm is short and the sky is far off,And the stars are all firmly nailed aboveWith golden nails.Vain is thy yearning and vain is thy sighing!The best thou canst do is to go to sleep."
Against the wooden wall of the shipWhere my dreaming head reclines,Break the waves, the wild sea-waves.They whisper and murmurClose into mine ear:"Oh foolish young fellow,Thine arm is short and the sky is far off,And the stars are all firmly nailed aboveWith golden nails.Vain is thy yearning and vain is thy sighing!The best thou canst do is to go to sleep."
I dreamed a dream about a strange vast heath,All overlaid with white and quiet snow.And I beneath that white snow buried lay,And slept the cold and lonely sleep of death.But from the dark and shadowy heavens yonder,Upon my grave the starry eyes looked down.Those gentle eyes! Triumphantly they sparkled,With still serenity, yet full of love.
I dreamed a dream about a strange vast heath,All overlaid with white and quiet snow.And I beneath that white snow buried lay,And slept the cold and lonely sleep of death.
But from the dark and shadowy heavens yonder,Upon my grave the starry eyes looked down.Those gentle eyes! Triumphantly they sparkled,With still serenity, yet full of love.
The tempest is raging.It lashes the waves,And the waves foaming and rearing in wrathTower on high, and the white mountains of waterSurge as though they were alive,While the little ship over-climbs themWith laborious haste,And suddenly plunges downInto the black, wide-yawning abyss of the tide.O sea.Thou mother of beauty, of the foam-engendered one,Grandmother of love, spare me!Already scenting death, flutters around meThe white, ghostly sea-mew,And whets his beak on the mast.And hungers with glutton-greed for the heartWhich resounds with the glory of thy daughter,And which the little rogue, thy grandson,Hath chosen for his play-ground.In vain are my prayers and entreaties,My cry dies away in the rushing storm,In the battle-tumult of the winds.They roar and whistle and crackle and howlLike a bedlam of tones.And amidst them, distinctly I hearAlluring notes of harps,Heart-melting, heart-rending,And I recognize the voice.Far away on the rocky Scotch coast,Where the little gray castle juts outOver the breaking waves,—There at the lofty-arched windowStands a beautiful suffering woman,Transparently delicate, and pale as marble.And she plays on the harp, and she sings,And the wind stirs her flowing locks,And wafts her melancholy songOver the wide, stormy sea.
The tempest is raging.It lashes the waves,And the waves foaming and rearing in wrathTower on high, and the white mountains of waterSurge as though they were alive,While the little ship over-climbs themWith laborious haste,And suddenly plunges downInto the black, wide-yawning abyss of the tide.
O sea.Thou mother of beauty, of the foam-engendered one,Grandmother of love, spare me!Already scenting death, flutters around meThe white, ghostly sea-mew,And whets his beak on the mast.And hungers with glutton-greed for the heartWhich resounds with the glory of thy daughter,And which the little rogue, thy grandson,Hath chosen for his play-ground.
In vain are my prayers and entreaties,My cry dies away in the rushing storm,In the battle-tumult of the winds.They roar and whistle and crackle and howlLike a bedlam of tones.And amidst them, distinctly I hearAlluring notes of harps,Heart-melting, heart-rending,And I recognize the voice.
Far away on the rocky Scotch coast,Where the little gray castle juts outOver the breaking waves,—There at the lofty-arched windowStands a beautiful suffering woman,Transparently delicate, and pale as marble.And she plays on the harp, and she sings,And the wind stirs her flowing locks,And wafts her melancholy songOver the wide, stormy sea.
Calm at sea! The sunbeams flickerFalling on the level water,And athwart the liquid jewelsPloughs the ship her emerald furrows.By the rudder lies the pilotOn his stomach, gently snoring,Near the mast, the tarry ship-boyStoops at work, the sail repairing.'Neath their smut his cheeks are ruddy,Hotly flushed,—his broad mouth twitches.Full of sadness are the glancesOf his eyes so large and lovely.For the captain stands before him,Raves and scolds and curses: "Rascal!Little rascal, thou hast robbed meOf a herring from the barrel."Calm at sea! above the watercomes a cunning fish out-peeping.Warms his little head in sunshine,Merrily his small fins plashing.But from airy heights, the sea-mewOn the little fish darts downward.Carrying in his beak his bootyBack he soars into the azure.
Calm at sea! The sunbeams flickerFalling on the level water,And athwart the liquid jewelsPloughs the ship her emerald furrows.
By the rudder lies the pilotOn his stomach, gently snoring,Near the mast, the tarry ship-boyStoops at work, the sail repairing.
'Neath their smut his cheeks are ruddy,Hotly flushed,—his broad mouth twitches.Full of sadness are the glancesOf his eyes so large and lovely.
For the captain stands before him,Raves and scolds and curses: "Rascal!Little rascal, thou hast robbed meOf a herring from the barrel."
Calm at sea! above the watercomes a cunning fish out-peeping.Warms his little head in sunshine,Merrily his small fins plashing.
But from airy heights, the sea-mewOn the little fish darts downward.Carrying in his beak his bootyBack he soars into the azure.
I however lay on the edge of the vessel,And gazed with dreamy eyesDown into the glass-clear water.And gazed deeper and deeper,Deep down into the bottom of the sea.At first like a twilight mist,Then gradually more distinctly colored,Domes of churches and towers arose,And at last, as clear as sunshine, a whole city,An antique Netherland city,Enlivened with people.Grave men with black mantles,And white ruffs, and chains of honor,And long swords and long faces,Strode over the swarming market-place,Towards the court-house with its high steps,Where the stone effigies of emperorsKept guard with scepter and sword.Near by, past long rows of houses,Past casements like polished mirrors,And pyramidal, clipped lindens,Wandered, in rustling silks, the young maidens,With slender forms, and flower-facesDecently encircled by their black hoods,And their waving golden hair.Motley-clad folk in Spanish garbStrut past and salute each other.Elderly damesIn brown, old-fashioned attire,Missal and rosary in hand,Hasten with tripping stepsTowards the great cathedral,Drawn thither by the chiming bells,And by the deep-voiced tones of the organ.And the far-off chimes smite me alsoWith mysterious awe.Insatiable yearning, profound sadnessSteal into my heart,Into my scarcely-healed heart.I feel as if its woundsWere kissed open by belovèd lips,And began to bleed afresh,With hot, red drops,That fall long and slowly,On an old house below there,In the deep city of the sea;—On an old high-gabled house,Sadly deserted by all living creatures,Save that in the lower window,Sits a maiden,Her head resting on her arms,Like a poor, forsaken child,And I know thee, thou poor forsaken child.Deep down, deep as the sea,Thou hiddest thyself from me,In a childish freak,And never couldst rise again.And thou sat'st a stranger among strangers,Through long ages,Whilst I, my soul full of grief,—I sought thee over the whole earth.Forever I sought thee,Thou ever-belovèd,Thou long-lost,Thou found at last!I have found thee, and I see once moreThy sweet face,The wise, loyal eyes,The darling smile,And never again will I leave thee,And I come down to thee now,And with wide-stretched arms,I leap down upon thy breast.But just at the right momentThe captain seized me by the foot,And drew me from the edge of the vessel,And cried with a peevish laugh,"Doctor, are you possessed by the devil?"
I however lay on the edge of the vessel,And gazed with dreamy eyesDown into the glass-clear water.And gazed deeper and deeper,Deep down into the bottom of the sea.At first like a twilight mist,Then gradually more distinctly colored,Domes of churches and towers arose,And at last, as clear as sunshine, a whole city,An antique Netherland city,Enlivened with people.Grave men with black mantles,And white ruffs, and chains of honor,And long swords and long faces,Strode over the swarming market-place,Towards the court-house with its high steps,Where the stone effigies of emperorsKept guard with scepter and sword.Near by, past long rows of houses,Past casements like polished mirrors,And pyramidal, clipped lindens,Wandered, in rustling silks, the young maidens,With slender forms, and flower-facesDecently encircled by their black hoods,And their waving golden hair.Motley-clad folk in Spanish garbStrut past and salute each other.Elderly damesIn brown, old-fashioned attire,Missal and rosary in hand,Hasten with tripping stepsTowards the great cathedral,Drawn thither by the chiming bells,And by the deep-voiced tones of the organ.
And the far-off chimes smite me alsoWith mysterious awe.Insatiable yearning, profound sadnessSteal into my heart,Into my scarcely-healed heart.I feel as if its woundsWere kissed open by belovèd lips,And began to bleed afresh,With hot, red drops,That fall long and slowly,On an old house below there,In the deep city of the sea;—On an old high-gabled house,Sadly deserted by all living creatures,Save that in the lower window,Sits a maiden,Her head resting on her arms,Like a poor, forsaken child,And I know thee, thou poor forsaken child.Deep down, deep as the sea,Thou hiddest thyself from me,In a childish freak,And never couldst rise again.
And thou sat'st a stranger among strangers,Through long ages,Whilst I, my soul full of grief,—I sought thee over the whole earth.Forever I sought thee,Thou ever-belovèd,Thou long-lost,Thou found at last!I have found thee, and I see once moreThy sweet face,The wise, loyal eyes,The darling smile,And never again will I leave thee,And I come down to thee now,And with wide-stretched arms,I leap down upon thy breast.
But just at the right momentThe captain seized me by the foot,And drew me from the edge of the vessel,And cried with a peevish laugh,"Doctor, are you possessed by the devil?"
Remain in thy deep sea-home,Thou insane dream,Which so many a nightHast tortured my heart with a counterfeit happiness,And which now as a vision of the seaDost threaten me even in the broad daylight.Remain there below to all eternity!And I cast moreover down unto theeAll my sorrows and sins,And the cap and bells of follyThat have jingled so long upon my head.And the cold, sleek serpent's skinOf dissimulation,Which so long has enwound my soul—My sick soul,My God-denying, angel-denyingWretched soul.Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! Here comes the breeze.Up with the sails! They flutter and belly to the wind.Over the treacherous smooth plainHastens the shipAnd the emancipated soul rejoices.
Remain in thy deep sea-home,Thou insane dream,Which so many a nightHast tortured my heart with a counterfeit happiness,And which now as a vision of the seaDost threaten me even in the broad daylight.Remain there below to all eternity!And I cast moreover down unto theeAll my sorrows and sins,And the cap and bells of follyThat have jingled so long upon my head.And the cold, sleek serpent's skinOf dissimulation,Which so long has enwound my soul—My sick soul,My God-denying, angel-denyingWretched soul.Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! Here comes the breeze.Up with the sails! They flutter and belly to the wind.Over the treacherous smooth plainHastens the shipAnd the emancipated soul rejoices.
High in heaven stood the sun,Surrounded by white clouds.The sea was calm;And I lay musing on the helm of the ship,Dreamily musing, and, half-awake,Half asleep, I saw Christ,The Savior of the world.In waving white raimentHe strode gigantically tallOver land and sea.His head touched heaven,He spread his hands in benedictionOver land and sea;And for a heart in his bosomHe bore the sun,The red fiery sun,And the red, fiery sun-heartShowered its beams of grace,And its pure love-bestowing light,That illumines and warmsOver land and sea.Peals of festal bells drew hither and thither,As swans might draw by chains of rosesThe smooth-gliding vessel,And sportively drew it to the verdant banks,Where folk dwelt in a lofty-toweredOverhanging town.Oh miracle of peace! How quiet was the town!Hushed was the dull murmur of chattering, sweltering Trade.And through the clean, resounding streets,Walked people clad in white,Bearing branches of palm.And when two such would meet,They looked at each other with ardent sympathyAnd, trembling with love and self denial,Kissed each other's brow,And glanced upwardTowards the sun-heart of the Savior,Which in glad propitiation irradiated downwardIts crimson blood:And thrice they exclaimed,"Praised be Jesus Christ!"Couldst thou have conceived this vision,What wouldst thou have given,Most dearly belovèd,—Thou who art so weak in body and mind,And so strong in faith!Thou who so singly honorest the Trinity,Who kissest daily the pug and the reins and the pawsOf thy lofty protectress,And hastenest with canting devotionTo the Aulic councilor and to the councilor of justice,And at last to the council of the RealmIn the pious city,Where sand and faith flourish,And the long-suffering waters of the sacred SpreePurify souls and dilute tea.Couldst thou have conceived this visionMost dearly belovèd,Thou hadst borne it to the lofty minnows of the market place,With thy pale blinking countenance,Rapt with piety and humility;And their high mightinessesRavished and trembling with ecstacy,Would have fallen praying with thee on their knees,And their eyes glowing with beatitude,Would have promised thee an increase of salary,Of a hundred thalers Prussian currency.And thou wouldst have stammered with folded hands,"Praised be Jesus Christ!"
High in heaven stood the sun,Surrounded by white clouds.The sea was calm;And I lay musing on the helm of the ship,Dreamily musing, and, half-awake,Half asleep, I saw Christ,The Savior of the world.In waving white raimentHe strode gigantically tallOver land and sea.His head touched heaven,He spread his hands in benedictionOver land and sea;And for a heart in his bosomHe bore the sun,The red fiery sun,And the red, fiery sun-heartShowered its beams of grace,And its pure love-bestowing light,That illumines and warmsOver land and sea.
Peals of festal bells drew hither and thither,As swans might draw by chains of rosesThe smooth-gliding vessel,And sportively drew it to the verdant banks,Where folk dwelt in a lofty-toweredOverhanging town.Oh miracle of peace! How quiet was the town!Hushed was the dull murmur of chattering, sweltering Trade.And through the clean, resounding streets,Walked people clad in white,Bearing branches of palm.And when two such would meet,They looked at each other with ardent sympathyAnd, trembling with love and self denial,Kissed each other's brow,And glanced upwardTowards the sun-heart of the Savior,Which in glad propitiation irradiated downwardIts crimson blood:And thrice they exclaimed,"Praised be Jesus Christ!"
Couldst thou have conceived this vision,What wouldst thou have given,Most dearly belovèd,—Thou who art so weak in body and mind,And so strong in faith!Thou who so singly honorest the Trinity,Who kissest daily the pug and the reins and the pawsOf thy lofty protectress,And hastenest with canting devotionTo the Aulic councilor and to the councilor of justice,And at last to the council of the RealmIn the pious city,Where sand and faith flourish,And the long-suffering waters of the sacred SpreePurify souls and dilute tea.Couldst thou have conceived this visionMost dearly belovèd,Thou hadst borne it to the lofty minnows of the market place,With thy pale blinking countenance,Rapt with piety and humility;And their high mightinessesRavished and trembling with ecstacy,Would have fallen praying with thee on their knees,And their eyes glowing with beatitude,Would have promised thee an increase of salary,Of a hundred thalers Prussian currency.And thou wouldst have stammered with folded hands,"Praised be Jesus Christ!"
Thalatta! Thalatta!All hail to thee, thou Eternal sea!All hail to thee ten thousand timesFrom my jubilant heart,As once thou wast hailedBy ten thousand Grecian hearts,Misfortune-combating, homeward-yearning,World-renowned Grecian hearts.The waters heaved,They heaved and roared.The sun poured streaming downwardIts flickering rosy lights.The startled flocks of sea-mewsFluttered away with shrill screams;The coursers stamped, the shields rattled,And far out, resounded like a triumphal pæan,Thalatta! Thalatta!All hail to thee, thou Eternal Sea!Like the language of home, thy water whispers to me.Like the dreams of my childhood I see it glimmer.Over thy billowy realm of waves.And it repeats to me anew olden memories,Of all the belovèd glorious sports,Of all the twinkling Christmas gifts,Of all the ruddy coral-trees,Tiny golden fishes, pearls and bright-hued mussels,Which thou dost secretly preserveBelow there in thy limpid house of crystal.Oh, how I have pined in barren exile!Like a withered flowerIn the tin box of a botanist,My heart lay in my breast.I feel as if all winter I had sat,A sick man, in a dark, sick room,Which now I suddenly leave.And dazzlingly shines down upon meThe emerald spring, the sunshine-awakened spring,And the white-blossomed trees are rustling;And the young flowers look at me,With their many-colored, fragrant eyes.And there is an aroma, and a murmuring, and a breathing and a laughter,And in the blue sky the little birds are singing,Thalatta! Thalatta!Thou valiant, retreating heart,How oft, how bitter oftDid the fair barbarians of the North press thee hard!From their large victorious eyesThey darted burning shafts.With crooked, polished words,They threatened to cleave my breast.With sharp-pointed missives they shatteredMy poor, stunned brain.In vain I held up against them my shield,The arrows whizzed, the strokes cracked,And from the fair barbarians of the NorthI was pressed even unto the sea.And now with deep, free breath, I hail the sea,The dear, redeeming sea—Thalatta! Thalatta!
Thalatta! Thalatta!All hail to thee, thou Eternal sea!All hail to thee ten thousand timesFrom my jubilant heart,As once thou wast hailedBy ten thousand Grecian hearts,Misfortune-combating, homeward-yearning,World-renowned Grecian hearts.
The waters heaved,They heaved and roared.The sun poured streaming downwardIts flickering rosy lights.The startled flocks of sea-mewsFluttered away with shrill screams;The coursers stamped, the shields rattled,And far out, resounded like a triumphal pæan,Thalatta! Thalatta!
All hail to thee, thou Eternal Sea!Like the language of home, thy water whispers to me.Like the dreams of my childhood I see it glimmer.Over thy billowy realm of waves.And it repeats to me anew olden memories,Of all the belovèd glorious sports,Of all the twinkling Christmas gifts,Of all the ruddy coral-trees,Tiny golden fishes, pearls and bright-hued mussels,Which thou dost secretly preserveBelow there in thy limpid house of crystal.
Oh, how I have pined in barren exile!Like a withered flowerIn the tin box of a botanist,My heart lay in my breast.I feel as if all winter I had sat,A sick man, in a dark, sick room,Which now I suddenly leave.And dazzlingly shines down upon meThe emerald spring, the sunshine-awakened spring,And the white-blossomed trees are rustling;And the young flowers look at me,With their many-colored, fragrant eyes.And there is an aroma, and a murmuring, and a breathing and a laughter,And in the blue sky the little birds are singing,Thalatta! Thalatta!
Thou valiant, retreating heart,How oft, how bitter oftDid the fair barbarians of the North press thee hard!From their large victorious eyesThey darted burning shafts.With crooked, polished words,They threatened to cleave my breast.With sharp-pointed missives they shatteredMy poor, stunned brain.In vain I held up against them my shield,The arrows whizzed, the strokes cracked,And from the fair barbarians of the NorthI was pressed even unto the sea.And now with deep, free breath, I hail the sea,The dear, redeeming sea—Thalatta! Thalatta!
Gloomy lowers the tempest over the sea,And through the black wall of cloudIs unsheathed the jagged lightning,Swift outflashing, and swift-vanishing,Like a jest from the brain of Chronos.Over the barren, billowy water,Far away rolls the thunder,And up leap the white water-steeds,Which Boreas himself begotOut of the graceful mare of Erichthon,And the sea-birds flutter around,Like the shadowy dead on the Styx,Whom Charon repels from his nocturnal boat.Poor, merry, little vessel,Dancing yonder the most wretched of dances!Eolus sends it his liveliest comrades,Who wildly play to the jolliest measures;One pipes his horn, another blows,A third scrapes his growling bass-viol.And the uncertain sailor stands at the rudder,And constantly gazes at the compass,The trembling soul of the ship;And he raises his hands in supplication to Heaven—"Oh, save me, Castor, gigantic hero!And thou conquering wrestler, Pollux."
Gloomy lowers the tempest over the sea,And through the black wall of cloudIs unsheathed the jagged lightning,Swift outflashing, and swift-vanishing,Like a jest from the brain of Chronos.Over the barren, billowy water,Far away rolls the thunder,And up leap the white water-steeds,Which Boreas himself begotOut of the graceful mare of Erichthon,And the sea-birds flutter around,Like the shadowy dead on the Styx,Whom Charon repels from his nocturnal boat.
Poor, merry, little vessel,Dancing yonder the most wretched of dances!Eolus sends it his liveliest comrades,Who wildly play to the jolliest measures;One pipes his horn, another blows,A third scrapes his growling bass-viol.And the uncertain sailor stands at the rudder,And constantly gazes at the compass,The trembling soul of the ship;And he raises his hands in supplication to Heaven—"Oh, save me, Castor, gigantic hero!And thou conquering wrestler, Pollux."
Hope and love! everything shatteredAnd I myself, like a corpseThat the growling sea has cast up,I lie on the strand,On the barren cold strand.Before me surges the waste of waters,Behind me lies naught but grief and misery;And above me, march the clouds,—The formless, gray daughters of the air,Who from the sea, in buckets of mist,Draw the water,And laboriously drag and drag it,And spill it again in the sea—A melancholy, tedious task,And useless as my own life.The waves murmur, the sea mews scream,Old recollections possess me;Forgotten dreams, banished visions,Tormentingly sweet, uprise.There lives a woman in the North,A beautiful woman, royally beautiful.Her slender, cypress-like formIs swathed in a light, white raiment.Her locks, in their dusky fullness,Like a blessed night,Streaming from her braid-crowned head,Curl softly as a dreamAround the sweet, pale face;And from the sweet pale faceLarge and powerful beams an eye,Like a black sun.Oh thou black sun, how oft,How rapturously oft, I drank from theeThe wild flames of inspiration!And stood and reeled, intoxicated with fire.Then there hovered a smile as mild as a dove,About the arched, haughty lips.And the arched, haughty lipsBreathed forth words as sweet as moonlight,And delicate as the fragrance of the rose.And my soul soared aloft,And flew like an eagle up into the heavens.Silence ye waves and sea mews!All is over! joy and hope—Hope and love! I lie on the groundAn empty, shipwrecked man,And press my glowing faceInto the moist sand.
Hope and love! everything shatteredAnd I myself, like a corpseThat the growling sea has cast up,I lie on the strand,On the barren cold strand.Before me surges the waste of waters,Behind me lies naught but grief and misery;And above me, march the clouds,—The formless, gray daughters of the air,Who from the sea, in buckets of mist,Draw the water,And laboriously drag and drag it,And spill it again in the sea—A melancholy, tedious task,And useless as my own life.
The waves murmur, the sea mews scream,Old recollections possess me;Forgotten dreams, banished visions,Tormentingly sweet, uprise.
There lives a woman in the North,A beautiful woman, royally beautiful.Her slender, cypress-like formIs swathed in a light, white raiment.Her locks, in their dusky fullness,Like a blessed night,Streaming from her braid-crowned head,Curl softly as a dreamAround the sweet, pale face;And from the sweet pale faceLarge and powerful beams an eye,Like a black sun.Oh thou black sun, how oft,How rapturously oft, I drank from theeThe wild flames of inspiration!And stood and reeled, intoxicated with fire.Then there hovered a smile as mild as a dove,About the arched, haughty lips.And the arched, haughty lipsBreathed forth words as sweet as moonlight,And delicate as the fragrance of the rose.And my soul soared aloft,And flew like an eagle up into the heavens.
Silence ye waves and sea mews!All is over! joy and hope—Hope and love! I lie on the groundAn empty, shipwrecked man,And press my glowing faceInto the moist sand.
The beautiful sunHas quietly descended into the sea.The surging water is already tintedBy dusky night—But still the red of eveningSprinkles it with golden lights.And the rushing might of the tidePresses toward the shore the white waves,That merrily and nimbly leapLike woolly flocks of sheep,Which at evening the singing shepherd boyDrives homeward."How beautiful is the sun!"Thus spake after a long silence, the friendWho wandered with me on the beach.And, half in jest, half in sober sadness,He assured me that the sunWas a beautiful woman, who had for policyEspoused the old god of the sea.All day she wanders joyouslyIn the lofty heavens, decked with purple,And sparkling with diamonds;Universally beloved, universally admiredBy all creatures of the globe,And cheering all creatures of the globeWith the radiance and warmth of her glance.But at evening, wretchedly constrained,She returns once moreTo the wet home, to the empty armsOf her hoary spouse."Believe me," added my friend,And laughed and sighed, and laughed again,"They live down there in the daintiest wedlock;Either they sleep or else they quarrel,Until high upheaves the sea above them,And the sailor amidst the roaring of the waves can hearHow the old fellow berates his wife:'Round strumpet of the universe!Sunbeam coquette!The whole day you shine for others,And at night for me you are frosty and tired.'After such curtain lectures,—Quite naturally—bursts into tearsThe proud sun, and bemoans her misery,And bemoans so lamentably long, that the sea godSuddenly springs desperately out of his bed,And quickly swims up to the surface of the ocean,To collect his wits and to breathe."Thus did I myself see him yester-night,Uprise from the bosom of the sea.He had a jacket of yellow flannel,And a lily-white night cap,And a withered countenance.
The beautiful sunHas quietly descended into the sea.The surging water is already tintedBy dusky night—But still the red of eveningSprinkles it with golden lights.And the rushing might of the tidePresses toward the shore the white waves,That merrily and nimbly leapLike woolly flocks of sheep,Which at evening the singing shepherd boyDrives homeward.
"How beautiful is the sun!"Thus spake after a long silence, the friendWho wandered with me on the beach.And, half in jest, half in sober sadness,He assured me that the sunWas a beautiful woman, who had for policyEspoused the old god of the sea.All day she wanders joyouslyIn the lofty heavens, decked with purple,And sparkling with diamonds;Universally beloved, universally admiredBy all creatures of the globe,And cheering all creatures of the globeWith the radiance and warmth of her glance.But at evening, wretchedly constrained,She returns once moreTo the wet home, to the empty armsOf her hoary spouse.
"Believe me," added my friend,And laughed and sighed, and laughed again,"They live down there in the daintiest wedlock;Either they sleep or else they quarrel,Until high upheaves the sea above them,And the sailor amidst the roaring of the waves can hearHow the old fellow berates his wife:'Round strumpet of the universe!Sunbeam coquette!The whole day you shine for others,And at night for me you are frosty and tired.'After such curtain lectures,—Quite naturally—bursts into tearsThe proud sun, and bemoans her misery,And bemoans so lamentably long, that the sea godSuddenly springs desperately out of his bed,And quickly swims up to the surface of the ocean,To collect his wits and to breathe."
Thus did I myself see him yester-night,Uprise from the bosom of the sea.He had a jacket of yellow flannel,And a lily-white night cap,And a withered countenance.
'Tis nightfall and paler grows the sea.And alone with his lonely soul,There sits a man on the cold strandAnd turns his death-cold glancesTowards the vast, death-cold vault of heaven,And toward the vast, billowy sea.On airy sails float forth his sighs;And melancholy they return,And find the heart close-locked,Wherein they fain would anchor.And he groans so loud that the white sea-mews,Startled out of their sandy nests,Flutter circling around him.And he laughingly speaks to them thus:"Ye black-legged birds,With white wings, oversea flutterers!With crooked beaks, salt-water bibbers,Ye oily seal-flesh devourers!Your life is as bitter as your food.I, however, the fortunate, taste naught but sweets!I taste the fragrance of the rose,The moonshine-nourished bride of the nightingale.I taste still sweeter sugar-plums,Stuffed with whipped cream.And the sweetest of all things I taste,The sweets of loving and of being loved!"She loves me, she loves me, the dear girl!Now stands she at home on the balcony of her house,And gazes forth in the twilight upon the street,And listens and yearns for me,—really!Vainly does she glance around, and sigh,And sighing she descends to the garden,And wanders midst the fragrance and the moonlight,And talks to the flowers, and tells themHow I, her belovèd, am so lovely and so lovable—really!Later in her bed, in her sleep, in her dreams,Blissfully she hovers about my precious image,So that in the morning at breakfastUpon the glistening buttered bread,She sees my smiling face,And she devours it for sheer love—really!"Thus boasted and boasted he,And meanwhile screamed the sea-mews,As with cold, ironical tittering.The twilight mists ascended,Uncannily forth from lilac cloudsPeered the greenish-yellow moon.Loud roared the billows,And deep from the loud roaring sea,As plaintive as a whispering monsoon,Sounded the song of the Oceanides—Of the beautiful, compassionate mermaids,Distinct midst them all the lovely voiceOf the silver-footed spouse of Peleus—And they sigh and sing:"Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool,Tormented with misery!Destroyed are all thy hopes,The playful children of the heart—And ah! thy heart, Niobe-like,Is petrified with grief!In thy brain falls the night,And therein are unsheathed the lightnings of frenzy,And thou makest a boast of thy trouble!Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool!Stiff-necked art thou as thy forefather,The lofty Titan, who stole celestial fireFrom the gods, and bestowed it upon man.And tortured by eagles chained to the rock,Olympus-high he flung defiance, flung defiance and groaned,Till we heard it in the depths of the sea,And came to him with the song of consolation.Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool!Thou, however, art more impotent still.'Twere more seemly that thou shouldst honor the gods,And patiently bear the burden of misery,And patiently bear it, long, so long,Till Atlas himself would lose patience,And cast from his shoulders the ponderous worldInto eternal night."So rang the song of the Oceanides,Of the beautiful compassionate mermaids,Until louder waves overpowered it.Behind the clouds retired the moon,The night yawned,And I sat long thereafter in the darkness and wept.
'Tis nightfall and paler grows the sea.And alone with his lonely soul,There sits a man on the cold strandAnd turns his death-cold glancesTowards the vast, death-cold vault of heaven,And toward the vast, billowy sea.On airy sails float forth his sighs;And melancholy they return,And find the heart close-locked,Wherein they fain would anchor.And he groans so loud that the white sea-mews,Startled out of their sandy nests,Flutter circling around him.And he laughingly speaks to them thus:
"Ye black-legged birds,With white wings, oversea flutterers!With crooked beaks, salt-water bibbers,Ye oily seal-flesh devourers!Your life is as bitter as your food.I, however, the fortunate, taste naught but sweets!I taste the fragrance of the rose,The moonshine-nourished bride of the nightingale.I taste still sweeter sugar-plums,Stuffed with whipped cream.And the sweetest of all things I taste,The sweets of loving and of being loved!
"She loves me, she loves me, the dear girl!Now stands she at home on the balcony of her house,And gazes forth in the twilight upon the street,And listens and yearns for me,—really!Vainly does she glance around, and sigh,And sighing she descends to the garden,And wanders midst the fragrance and the moonlight,And talks to the flowers, and tells themHow I, her belovèd, am so lovely and so lovable—really!Later in her bed, in her sleep, in her dreams,Blissfully she hovers about my precious image,So that in the morning at breakfastUpon the glistening buttered bread,She sees my smiling face,And she devours it for sheer love—really!"
Thus boasted and boasted he,And meanwhile screamed the sea-mews,As with cold, ironical tittering.The twilight mists ascended,Uncannily forth from lilac cloudsPeered the greenish-yellow moon.Loud roared the billows,And deep from the loud roaring sea,As plaintive as a whispering monsoon,Sounded the song of the Oceanides—Of the beautiful, compassionate mermaids,Distinct midst them all the lovely voiceOf the silver-footed spouse of Peleus—And they sigh and sing:
"Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool,Tormented with misery!Destroyed are all thy hopes,The playful children of the heart—And ah! thy heart, Niobe-like,Is petrified with grief!In thy brain falls the night,And therein are unsheathed the lightnings of frenzy,And thou makest a boast of thy trouble!Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool!Stiff-necked art thou as thy forefather,The lofty Titan, who stole celestial fireFrom the gods, and bestowed it upon man.And tortured by eagles chained to the rock,Olympus-high he flung defiance, flung defiance and groaned,Till we heard it in the depths of the sea,And came to him with the song of consolation.Oh fool, thou fool, thou boasting fool!Thou, however, art more impotent still.'Twere more seemly that thou shouldst honor the gods,And patiently bear the burden of misery,And patiently bear it, long, so long,Till Atlas himself would lose patience,And cast from his shoulders the ponderous worldInto eternal night."
So rang the song of the Oceanides,Of the beautiful compassionate mermaids,Until louder waves overpowered it.Behind the clouds retired the moon,The night yawned,And I sat long thereafter in the darkness and wept.
Full-blooming moon, in thy radiance,Like flowing gold shines the sea.With daylight clearness, yet twilight enchantment,Thy beams lie over the wide, level beach.And in the pure, blue starless heavens,Float the white clouds,Like colossal images of godsOf gleaming marble.No more again! those are no clouds!They are themselves—the gods of Hellas,Who erst so joyously governed the world,But now, supplanted and dead,Yonder, like monstrous ghosts, must fare,Through the midnight skies.Amazed and strangely dazzled, I contemplateThe ethereal Pantheon.The solemnly mute, awfully agitated,Gigantic forms.There is Chronos yonder, the king of heaven;Snow-white are the curls of his head,The world-renowned Olympus-shaking curls.He holds in his hand the quenched lightning,In his face dwell misfortune and grief;But even yet the olden pride.Those were better days, oh Zeus,When thou didst celestially divert thyselfWith youths and nymphs and hecatombs.But the gods themselves, reign not forever;The young supplant the old,As thou thyself, thy hoary father,And thy Titan-uncle didst supplantJupiter-Parricida!Thee also, I recognize, haughty Juno;Despite all thy jealous care,Another has wrested thy sceptre from thee,And thou art no longer Queen of Heaven.And thy great eyes are blank,And thy lily arms are powerless,And nevermore may thy vengeance smiteThe divinely-quickened Virgin,And the miracle-performing son of God.Thee also I recognize, Pallas Athena!With thy shield and thy wisdom, could'st thou not avertThe ruin of the gods?Also thee I recognize, thee also, Aphrodite!Once the golden, now the silvern!'Tis true that the love-charmed zone still adorns theeBut I shudder with horror at thy beauty.And if thy gracious body were to favor meLike other heroes, I should die of terror.Thou seemest to me a goddess-corpse,Venus Libitina!No longer glances toward thee with love,Yonder the dread Ares!How melancholy looks Phoebus ApolloThe youth. His lyre is silent,Which once so joyously resounded at the feast of the gods.Still sadder looks Hephaistos.And indeed nevermore shall the limperStumble into the service of Hebe,And nimbly pour forth to the assemblageThe luscious nectar. And long ago was extinguishedThe unextinguishable laughter of the gods.I have never loved you, ye gods!For to me are the Greeks antipathetic,And even the Romans are hateful.But holy compassion and sacred pityPenetrate my heart,When I now gaze upon you yonder,Deserted gods!Dead night-wandering shadows,Weak as mists which the wind scares away.And when I recall how dastardly and visionaryAre the gods who have supplanted you,The new, reigning, dolorous gods,Mischief-plotters in the sheep's clothing of humility,Oh then a more sullen rancor possesses me,And I fain would shatter the new Temples,And battle for you, ye ancient gods,—For you and your good ambrosial cause.And before your high altars,Rebuilt with their extinguished fires,Fain would I kneel and pray,And supplicating uplift mine arms.Always ye ancient gods,Even in the battles of mortals,Always did ye espouse the cause of the victor.But man is more magnanimous than ye,And in the battles of the gods, he now takes the partOf the gods who have been vanquished.
Full-blooming moon, in thy radiance,Like flowing gold shines the sea.With daylight clearness, yet twilight enchantment,Thy beams lie over the wide, level beach.And in the pure, blue starless heavens,Float the white clouds,Like colossal images of godsOf gleaming marble.
No more again! those are no clouds!They are themselves—the gods of Hellas,Who erst so joyously governed the world,But now, supplanted and dead,Yonder, like monstrous ghosts, must fare,Through the midnight skies.
Amazed and strangely dazzled, I contemplateThe ethereal Pantheon.The solemnly mute, awfully agitated,Gigantic forms.There is Chronos yonder, the king of heaven;Snow-white are the curls of his head,The world-renowned Olympus-shaking curls.He holds in his hand the quenched lightning,In his face dwell misfortune and grief;But even yet the olden pride.Those were better days, oh Zeus,When thou didst celestially divert thyselfWith youths and nymphs and hecatombs.But the gods themselves, reign not forever;The young supplant the old,As thou thyself, thy hoary father,And thy Titan-uncle didst supplantJupiter-Parricida!Thee also, I recognize, haughty Juno;Despite all thy jealous care,Another has wrested thy sceptre from thee,And thou art no longer Queen of Heaven.
And thy great eyes are blank,And thy lily arms are powerless,And nevermore may thy vengeance smiteThe divinely-quickened Virgin,And the miracle-performing son of God.Thee also I recognize, Pallas Athena!With thy shield and thy wisdom, could'st thou not avertThe ruin of the gods?Also thee I recognize, thee also, Aphrodite!Once the golden, now the silvern!'Tis true that the love-charmed zone still adorns theeBut I shudder with horror at thy beauty.And if thy gracious body were to favor meLike other heroes, I should die of terror.Thou seemest to me a goddess-corpse,Venus Libitina!No longer glances toward thee with love,Yonder the dread Ares!How melancholy looks Phoebus ApolloThe youth. His lyre is silent,Which once so joyously resounded at the feast of the gods.
Still sadder looks Hephaistos.And indeed nevermore shall the limperStumble into the service of Hebe,And nimbly pour forth to the assemblageThe luscious nectar. And long ago was extinguishedThe unextinguishable laughter of the gods.
I have never loved you, ye gods!For to me are the Greeks antipathetic,And even the Romans are hateful.But holy compassion and sacred pityPenetrate my heart,When I now gaze upon you yonder,Deserted gods!Dead night-wandering shadows,Weak as mists which the wind scares away.And when I recall how dastardly and visionaryAre the gods who have supplanted you,The new, reigning, dolorous gods,Mischief-plotters in the sheep's clothing of humility,Oh then a more sullen rancor possesses me,And I fain would shatter the new Temples,And battle for you, ye ancient gods,—For you and your good ambrosial cause.And before your high altars,Rebuilt with their extinguished fires,Fain would I kneel and pray,And supplicating uplift mine arms.
Always ye ancient gods,Even in the battles of mortals,Always did ye espouse the cause of the victor.But man is more magnanimous than ye,And in the battles of the gods, he now takes the partOf the gods who have been vanquished.