Behold! 'tis a foam-white sea-mewThat flutters there on high.Far over the black night-watersThe moon hangs up in the sky.The shark and the roach dart forwardFor breath as the breeze floats by.The sea-mew poises and plunges,The moon hangs up in the sky.Oh, lovely transient spirit,How heavy of heart am I!Too near to thee is the water,The moon hangs up in the sky.
Behold! 'tis a foam-white sea-mewThat flutters there on high.Far over the black night-watersThe moon hangs up in the sky.
The shark and the roach dart forwardFor breath as the breeze floats by.The sea-mew poises and plunges,The moon hangs up in the sky.
Oh, lovely transient spirit,How heavy of heart am I!Too near to thee is the water,The moon hangs up in the sky.
In moonlit splendor rests the sea,The soft waves ripple along.My heart beats low and heavily,I think of the ancient song.The ancient song that quaintly singsTowns lost in olden times;And how from the sea's abyss there ringsThe sound of prayers and chimes.But pious prayers and chimes, I ween,Are offered all in vain.For that which once hath buried beenMay never come back again.
In moonlit splendor rests the sea,The soft waves ripple along.My heart beats low and heavily,I think of the ancient song.
The ancient song that quaintly singsTowns lost in olden times;And how from the sea's abyss there ringsThe sound of prayers and chimes.
But pious prayers and chimes, I ween,Are offered all in vain.For that which once hath buried beenMay never come back again.
I knew that thou must love me—'Twas long ago made clear.But thy confession filled meWith deep and secret fear.I clambered up the mountain,And sang aloud for glee.Then while the sun was setting,I wept beside the sea.My heart is like the sun, dear,Yon kindled flame above;And sinks in large-orbed beautyWithin a sea of love.
I knew that thou must love me—'Twas long ago made clear.But thy confession filled meWith deep and secret fear.
I clambered up the mountain,And sang aloud for glee.Then while the sun was setting,I wept beside the sea.
My heart is like the sun, dear,Yon kindled flame above;And sinks in large-orbed beautyWithin a sea of love.
How enviously the sea-mewLooks after us, my dear;Because upon thy lips thenSo close I pressed mine ear.He fain would know what issued,Most curious of birds!If thou mine ear fulfillestWith kisses or with words.What through my spirit hisses?I, too, am sore perplexed!Thy words, dear, and thy kissesAre strangely intermixed.
How enviously the sea-mewLooks after us, my dear;Because upon thy lips thenSo close I pressed mine ear.
He fain would know what issued,Most curious of birds!If thou mine ear fulfillestWith kisses or with words.
What through my spirit hisses?I, too, am sore perplexed!Thy words, dear, and thy kissesAre strangely intermixed.
Shy as a fawn she passed me by;And, fleet as any heifer,She clambered on from cliff to cliff,Her hair flew with the zephyr.Where to the sea's edge slope the rocks,I reached her, trembling near it.Then, softly with the softest words,I melted her proud spirit.There we two sat as high as heaven,And heaven's own rapture drinking.While in the dark waves far below;The gradual sun was sinking.Below us in the deep, dark sea,The fair sun dropped; then dashing,The waves broke wildly over him,With turbulence of passion.Oh do not weep! he is not dead,'Neath billows swelling higher;He has but hidden in my heart,With all his burning fire.
Shy as a fawn she passed me by;And, fleet as any heifer,She clambered on from cliff to cliff,Her hair flew with the zephyr.
Where to the sea's edge slope the rocks,I reached her, trembling near it.Then, softly with the softest words,I melted her proud spirit.
There we two sat as high as heaven,And heaven's own rapture drinking.While in the dark waves far below;The gradual sun was sinking.
Below us in the deep, dark sea,The fair sun dropped; then dashing,The waves broke wildly over him,With turbulence of passion.
Oh do not weep! he is not dead,'Neath billows swelling higher;He has but hidden in my heart,With all his burning fire.
Come, let us build upon this rock,The Church of God's last lover,The third New Testament's revealed,The agony is over.Refuted is the second bookThat fooled us through long ages.The stupid torture of the fleshIs not for modern sages.Hear'st thou the Lord in the dark sea,With thousand voices speaking?See'st thou o'erhead the thousand lightsOf God's own glory breaking?The holy God dwells in the light,As in the dark abysses.For God is everything that is:His breath is in our kisses.
Come, let us build upon this rock,The Church of God's last lover,The third New Testament's revealed,The agony is over.
Refuted is the second bookThat fooled us through long ages.The stupid torture of the fleshIs not for modern sages.
Hear'st thou the Lord in the dark sea,With thousand voices speaking?See'st thou o'erhead the thousand lightsOf God's own glory breaking?
The holy God dwells in the light,As in the dark abysses.For God is everything that is:His breath is in our kisses.
Gray night broods above the ocean,Little stars gleam sparkling o'er us.And the waters' many voicesChant in deep, protracted chorus.Hark! the old northwind is playingOn the polished waves of ocean,That, like tubes of some great organ,Thrill and stir with sounding motion.Partly pagan, partly sacred,Rise these melodies upswellingPassionately to the heavens,Where the joyous stars are dwelling.And the stars wax large and larger,In bright mazes they are driven,Large as suns at last revolving,Through the spaces of vast heaven.And weird harmonies they warbleWith the billows' music blending.Solar nightingales, they circleThrough the spheres strange concord sending.And with mighty roar and trembling,Sky and ocean both are ringing;And a giant's stormy raptureFeel I in my bosom springing.
Gray night broods above the ocean,Little stars gleam sparkling o'er us.And the waters' many voicesChant in deep, protracted chorus.
Hark! the old northwind is playingOn the polished waves of ocean,That, like tubes of some great organ,Thrill and stir with sounding motion.
Partly pagan, partly sacred,Rise these melodies upswellingPassionately to the heavens,Where the joyous stars are dwelling.
And the stars wax large and larger,In bright mazes they are driven,Large as suns at last revolving,Through the spaces of vast heaven.
And weird harmonies they warbleWith the billows' music blending.Solar nightingales, they circleThrough the spheres strange concord sending.
And with mighty roar and trembling,Sky and ocean both are ringing;And a giant's stormy raptureFeel I in my bosom springing.
Shadow-love and shadow-kisses,Life of shadows, wondrous strange!Shall all hours be sweet as this is,Silly darling, safe from change?All things that we clasp and cherish,Pass like dreams we may not keep.Human hearts forget and perish,Human eyes must fall asleep.
Shadow-love and shadow-kisses,Life of shadows, wondrous strange!Shall all hours be sweet as this is,Silly darling, safe from change?
All things that we clasp and cherish,Pass like dreams we may not keep.Human hearts forget and perish,Human eyes must fall asleep.
She stood beside the ocean,And sighed as one oppressed,With such a deep emotionThe sunset thrilled her breast.Dear maiden, look more gayly,This trick is old, thou'lt find.Before us sinks he daily,To rise again behind.
She stood beside the ocean,And sighed as one oppressed,With such a deep emotionThe sunset thrilled her breast.
Dear maiden, look more gayly,This trick is old, thou'lt find.Before us sinks he daily,To rise again behind.
My ship sails forth with sable sails,Far over the savage sea;Thou know'st how heavy is my woe,Yet still thou woundest me.Thy heart is fickle as the wind,And flits incessantly.My ship sails forth with sable sails,Far over the savage sea.
My ship sails forth with sable sails,Far over the savage sea;Thou know'st how heavy is my woe,Yet still thou woundest me.
Thy heart is fickle as the wind,And flits incessantly.My ship sails forth with sable sails,Far over the savage sea.
I told nor man, nor womanHow ill you dealt with me;I came abroad and published itTo the fishes in the sea.Only upon terra firmaI have left you your good name;But over all the oceanEvery creature knows your shame.
I told nor man, nor womanHow ill you dealt with me;I came abroad and published itTo the fishes in the sea.
Only upon terra firmaI have left you your good name;But over all the oceanEvery creature knows your shame.
The roaring waves press onwardTo reach the strand.Then swell, and, crashing downward,Break on the sand.They roll with surging power,Nor rest, nor fail—And then ebb slow and slower—Of what avail?
The roaring waves press onwardTo reach the strand.Then swell, and, crashing downward,Break on the sand.
They roll with surging power,Nor rest, nor fail—And then ebb slow and slower—Of what avail?
The Runenstein juts in the sea,I sit here with my dreams,The billows wander foamingly;Winds pipe, the sea-mew screams.Oh I have loved full many a lass,And many a worthy fellow,Where have they gone? The shrill winds pass,And wandering foams the billow.
The Runenstein juts in the sea,I sit here with my dreams,The billows wander foamingly;Winds pipe, the sea-mew screams.
Oh I have loved full many a lass,And many a worthy fellow,Where have they gone? The shrill winds pass,And wandering foams the billow.
The waves gleam in the sunshine,They seem of gold to be.When I am dead, my brothers,Oh drop me in the sea.For dearly have I loved it.Like cooling balm descendsUpon my heart its current:We were the best of friends.
The waves gleam in the sunshine,They seem of gold to be.When I am dead, my brothers,Oh drop me in the sea.
For dearly have I loved it.Like cooling balm descendsUpon my heart its current:We were the best of friends.
Now that heaven smiles in favor,Like a mute shall I still languish,—I, who when unhappy, everSang so much about mine anguish?Till a thousand striplings hauntedBy despair, my notes re-fluted,And unto the woe I chanted,Greater evils still imputed.Oh ye nightingales' sweet choir,That my bosom holds in capture,Lift your joyous voices higher,Let the whole world hear your rapture!
Now that heaven smiles in favor,Like a mute shall I still languish,—I, who when unhappy, everSang so much about mine anguish?
Till a thousand striplings hauntedBy despair, my notes re-fluted,And unto the woe I chanted,Greater evils still imputed.
Oh ye nightingales' sweet choir,That my bosom holds in capture,Lift your joyous voices higher,Let the whole world hear your rapture!
Though thou wert fain to pass me quickly,Yet backward didst thou look by chance;Thy wistful lips were frankly parted,Impetuous scorn was in thy glance.Would that I ne'er had sought to hold thee,To touch thy fleeing gown's white train!The dear mark of thy tiny footprintsWould that I ne'er had found again!For now thy rare wild charm has vanished,Like others thou art tame to see,Intolerably kind and gentle—Alas! thou art in love with me.
Though thou wert fain to pass me quickly,Yet backward didst thou look by chance;Thy wistful lips were frankly parted,Impetuous scorn was in thy glance.
Would that I ne'er had sought to hold thee,To touch thy fleeing gown's white train!The dear mark of thy tiny footprintsWould that I ne'er had found again!
For now thy rare wild charm has vanished,Like others thou art tame to see,Intolerably kind and gentle—Alas! thou art in love with me.
Ne'er can I believe, young beauty,Thy disdainful lips alone:For such big black eyes as thine areVirtue never yet did own.And those brown-streaked lies down-glancingSay "I love thee!" clearly scanned,Let thy little white heart kiss me—White heart, dost thou understand?
Ne'er can I believe, young beauty,Thy disdainful lips alone:For such big black eyes as thine areVirtue never yet did own.
And those brown-streaked lies down-glancingSay "I love thee!" clearly scanned,Let thy little white heart kiss me—White heart, dost thou understand?
From the slightest of emotions,What a sudden transformation,To the most unbounded passion,And the tenderest relation!Every day it waxes deeper,My affection for my lady.I am almost half-persuadedThat I am in love already.Beautiful her soul: though trulyThat's a question of opinion.I am surer of the beautyOf the bodily dominion.Oh that waist! And oh that forehead!Oh that nose! The sweet enclosureOf the lovely lips in smiling!And the bearing's proud composure!
From the slightest of emotions,What a sudden transformation,To the most unbounded passion,And the tenderest relation!
Every day it waxes deeper,My affection for my lady.I am almost half-persuadedThat I am in love already.
Beautiful her soul: though trulyThat's a question of opinion.I am surer of the beautyOf the bodily dominion.
Oh that waist! And oh that forehead!Oh that nose! The sweet enclosureOf the lovely lips in smiling!And the bearing's proud composure!
Ah, how fair thou art when franklyThou reveal'st thy soul's dimensions,And thy speech is overflowingWith the noblest of intentions.When thou tell'st me how thy feelingsAlways have been truest, highest,To the pride within thy bosomThou no sacrifice denyest.Not for millions, thou averrest,Man could thy pure honor buy,Ere thou sell thyself for moneyAh, thou wouldst far liefer die.I before thee stand and listen;To the end I listen stoutly,Like a type of faith in silence,And I fold my hands devoutly.
Ah, how fair thou art when franklyThou reveal'st thy soul's dimensions,And thy speech is overflowingWith the noblest of intentions.
When thou tell'st me how thy feelingsAlways have been truest, highest,To the pride within thy bosomThou no sacrifice denyest.
Not for millions, thou averrest,Man could thy pure honor buy,Ere thou sell thyself for moneyAh, thou wouldst far liefer die.
I before thee stand and listen;To the end I listen stoutly,Like a type of faith in silence,And I fold my hands devoutly.
I closed my sweetheart's either eye,And on her mouth I kissed,Now asking me the reason whyShe never gives me rest.From set of sun till morning rise,Each hour does she persist,'Oh wherefore did you close mine eyes,When on my mouth you kissed?"I never yet have told her why,Myself I scarcely wist.I closed my sweetheart's either eye,And on her mouth I kissed.
I closed my sweetheart's either eye,And on her mouth I kissed,Now asking me the reason whyShe never gives me rest.
From set of sun till morning rise,Each hour does she persist,'Oh wherefore did you close mine eyes,When on my mouth you kissed?"
I never yet have told her why,Myself I scarcely wist.I closed my sweetheart's either eye,And on her mouth I kissed.
When I, enraptured by precious kisses,Rest in thine arms for briefest season,Of Germany thou must not ask me,I cannot bear it—there is a reason!Leave Germany in peace, I do beseech thee,Vex not with endless questions my poor spiritConcerning home, friends, social, kind relations,There is a reason why I cannot bear it.The oak-tree there is green, the German womenHave soft blue eyes—tender they are and fair.They whisper sighs of hope and truth and passion.I have good cause—'tis more than I can bear.
When I, enraptured by precious kisses,Rest in thine arms for briefest season,Of Germany thou must not ask me,I cannot bear it—there is a reason!
Leave Germany in peace, I do beseech thee,Vex not with endless questions my poor spiritConcerning home, friends, social, kind relations,There is a reason why I cannot bear it.
The oak-tree there is green, the German womenHave soft blue eyes—tender they are and fair.They whisper sighs of hope and truth and passion.I have good cause—'tis more than I can bear.
Whilst I, after other people's,Others people's darlings gaze,And before strange sweethearts' dwellingsSighing pace through weary days.—Then perhaps those other peopleIn another quarter pine,Pacing by my very windows,Coveting that girl of mine.That were human! God in heaven,Watch us still whate'er befall!God in heaven, joy and blessing,Joy and blessing send us all!
Whilst I, after other people's,Others people's darlings gaze,And before strange sweethearts' dwellingsSighing pace through weary days.—
Then perhaps those other peopleIn another quarter pine,Pacing by my very windows,Coveting that girl of mine.
That were human! God in heaven,Watch us still whate'er befall!God in heaven, joy and blessing,Joy and blessing send us all!
Dismiss me not, e'en if my thirstQuenched with that sweet draught be!Bear with me for a season yet,That shall suffice for me.Canst thou no longer be my love,Then be to me a friend;For friendship only just beginsWhen love is at an end.
Dismiss me not, e'en if my thirstQuenched with that sweet draught be!Bear with me for a season yet,That shall suffice for me.
Canst thou no longer be my love,Then be to me a friend;For friendship only just beginsWhen love is at an end.
This mad carnival of loving,This our heart's intoxicationEnds at last, and we twain, sobered,Yawningly look each on each.All the luscious cup is drainedThat was filled with sensuous juices,Foaming to the brim, enticing,All the luscious cup is drained.And the violins are silent,That so sweetly played for dancing,For the giddy dance of passion—Yes, the violins are silent.And the lanterns are extinguished,That with gorgeous light illuminedAll the motley troop of maskers—Yes, the lanterns are extinguished.And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday,I will draw upon thy foreheadThen an ashen cross, and murmur,Woman, thou art dust—remember!
This mad carnival of loving,This our heart's intoxicationEnds at last, and we twain, sobered,Yawningly look each on each.
All the luscious cup is drainedThat was filled with sensuous juices,Foaming to the brim, enticing,All the luscious cup is drained.
And the violins are silent,That so sweetly played for dancing,For the giddy dance of passion—Yes, the violins are silent.
And the lanterns are extinguished,That with gorgeous light illuminedAll the motley troop of maskers—Yes, the lanterns are extinguished.
And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday,I will draw upon thy foreheadThen an ashen cross, and murmur,Woman, thou art dust—remember!
This is the spring-tide's mournful feast,The frantic troops of blooming girlsAre rushing hither with flying curls,Moaning they smite their bare white breast,Adonis! Adonis!The night has come. By the torches' gleamsThey search the forest on every side,That echoes with anguish far and wide,With tears, mad laughter, and sobs and screams,Adonis! Adonis!The mortal youth so strangely fair,Lies on the cold turf pale and dead;His heart's blood staineth the flowers red,And a wild lament fulfills the air,Adonis! Adonis!
This is the spring-tide's mournful feast,The frantic troops of blooming girlsAre rushing hither with flying curls,Moaning they smite their bare white breast,Adonis! Adonis!
The night has come. By the torches' gleamsThey search the forest on every side,That echoes with anguish far and wide,With tears, mad laughter, and sobs and screams,Adonis! Adonis!
The mortal youth so strangely fair,Lies on the cold turf pale and dead;His heart's blood staineth the flowers red,And a wild lament fulfills the air,Adonis! Adonis!
Lo, a large black-shrouded bargeSadly moves with sails outspread,And mute creatures' muffled featuresHold grim watch above the dead.Calm below it lies the poetWith his fair face bare and white,Still with yearning ever turningAzure eyes towards heaven's light.As he saileth sadly wailethSome bereaven undine-bride.O'er the springing waves outringing,Hark! a dirge floats far and wide.
Lo, a large black-shrouded bargeSadly moves with sails outspread,And mute creatures' muffled featuresHold grim watch above the dead.
Calm below it lies the poetWith his fair face bare and white,Still with yearning ever turningAzure eyes towards heaven's light.
As he saileth sadly wailethSome bereaven undine-bride.O'er the springing waves outringing,Hark! a dirge floats far and wide.
Daily the fair Sultan's daughterWanders to and fro at twilightBy the margin of the fountain,Where the waters white are rippling.Daily the young slave at twilightStands beside the fountain's margin,Where the waters white are rippling,Daily grows he pale and paler.There one evening moved the princessToward the slave with words swift-spoken"Tell me, tell me what thy name is,Where thy home is, what thy lineage?"Spake the youthful slave: "My name isMahomet, I come from Yemen;And by birth I am an Asra,One who dieth when he loves."
Daily the fair Sultan's daughterWanders to and fro at twilightBy the margin of the fountain,Where the waters white are rippling.
Daily the young slave at twilightStands beside the fountain's margin,Where the waters white are rippling,Daily grows he pale and paler.
There one evening moved the princessToward the slave with words swift-spoken"Tell me, tell me what thy name is,Where thy home is, what thy lineage?"
Spake the youthful slave: "My name isMahomet, I come from Yemen;And by birth I am an Asra,One who dieth when he loves."
Thou hast invoked me from my grave,And through thy magic spellHast quickened me with fierce desire,This flame thou canst not quell.Oh press thy lips against my lips,Divine is mortal breath;I drink thy very soul from thee.Insatiable is death.
Thou hast invoked me from my grave,And through thy magic spellHast quickened me with fierce desire,This flame thou canst not quell.
Oh press thy lips against my lips,Divine is mortal breath;I drink thy very soul from thee.Insatiable is death.
There stands a lonely pine-treeIn the north, on a barren height;He sleeps while the ice and snow flakesSwathe him in folds of white.He dreameth of a palm-treeFar in the sunrise-land,Lonely and silent longingOn her burning bank of sand.
There stands a lonely pine-treeIn the north, on a barren height;He sleeps while the ice and snow flakesSwathe him in folds of white.
He dreameth of a palm-treeFar in the sunrise-land,Lonely and silent longingOn her burning bank of sand.
"To be disinterested in everything, but above all in love and friendship, was my supreme wish, my maxim, my practice; hence my daring expression at a later period: 'If I love thee, what is that to thee?' sprang directly from my heart."Goethe's "Truth and Poetry," BookXIV.
"To be disinterested in everything, but above all in love and friendship, was my supreme wish, my maxim, my practice; hence my daring expression at a later period: 'If I love thee, what is that to thee?' sprang directly from my heart."
Goethe's "Truth and Poetry," BookXIV.
Oh songs of mine! belovèd songs of mine,Up, up! and don your armor,And let the trumpets blare,And lift upon your shieldThis youthful maidenWho now shall reign supremeOver my heart, as queen!Hail! hail! thou youthful queen!From the sun aboveI snatch the beaming red gold,And weave therewith a diademFor thy consecrated head.From the fluttering azure-silken canopy of heaven,Where blaze the diamonds of night,A precious fragment I cut:And as a coronation mantle,I hang it upon thy royal shoulders.I bestow on thee a courtOf richly-attired sonnets,HaughtyTerzineand stately stanzas.My wit shall serve thee as courier,My fancy shall be thy fool,Thy herald, whose crest is a smiling tear,Shall be my humor.But I myself, oh Queen,Low do I kneel before thee,On the cushion of crimson samite,And as homage I dedicate to thee.The tiny morsel of reason,That has been compassionately spared meBy thy predecessor in the realm.
Oh songs of mine! belovèd songs of mine,Up, up! and don your armor,And let the trumpets blare,And lift upon your shieldThis youthful maidenWho now shall reign supremeOver my heart, as queen!Hail! hail! thou youthful queen!
From the sun aboveI snatch the beaming red gold,And weave therewith a diademFor thy consecrated head.From the fluttering azure-silken canopy of heaven,Where blaze the diamonds of night,A precious fragment I cut:And as a coronation mantle,I hang it upon thy royal shoulders.I bestow on thee a courtOf richly-attired sonnets,HaughtyTerzineand stately stanzas.My wit shall serve thee as courier,My fancy shall be thy fool,Thy herald, whose crest is a smiling tear,Shall be my humor.
But I myself, oh Queen,Low do I kneel before thee,On the cushion of crimson samite,And as homage I dedicate to thee.The tiny morsel of reason,That has been compassionately spared meBy thy predecessor in the realm.
On the wan shore of the seaLonely I sat with troubled thoughts.The sun dropped lower, and castGlowing red streaks on the water.And the white wide waves,Crowding in with the tide,Foamed and rustled, nearer and nearer,With a strange rustling, a whispering, a hissing,A laughter, a murmur, a sighing, a seething,And amidst all these a mysterious lullaby.I seemed to hear long-past traditions,Lovely old-time fairy-tales,Which as a boy I had heard,From the neighbor's children,When on summer evenings we had nestledOn the stone steps of the porch.With little eager hearts,And wistful cunning eyes,Whilst the grown maidensSat opposite at their windowsNear their sweet-smelling flower pots,With their rosy faces,Smiling and beaming in the moonlight.
On the wan shore of the seaLonely I sat with troubled thoughts.The sun dropped lower, and castGlowing red streaks on the water.And the white wide waves,Crowding in with the tide,Foamed and rustled, nearer and nearer,With a strange rustling, a whispering, a hissing,A laughter, a murmur, a sighing, a seething,And amidst all these a mysterious lullaby.I seemed to hear long-past traditions,Lovely old-time fairy-tales,Which as a boy I had heard,From the neighbor's children,When on summer evenings we had nestledOn the stone steps of the porch.With little eager hearts,And wistful cunning eyes,Whilst the grown maidensSat opposite at their windowsNear their sweet-smelling flower pots,With their rosy faces,Smiling and beaming in the moonlight.
The glowing red sun descendsInto the wide, tremulousSilver-gray ocean.Ethereal, rosy tinted formsAre wreathed behind him, and opposite,Through the veil of autumnal, twilight clouds,Like a sad, deathly-pale countenance,Breaks the moon,And after her, like sparks of light,In the misty distance, shimmer the stars.Once there shone forth in heaven,Nuptially united.Luna the goddess, and Sol the god.And around them gathered the stars,Those innocent little children.But evil tongues whispered dissension,And in bitterness partedThe lofty, illustrious pair.Now all day in lonely splendorThe sun-god fares overhead,Worshiped and magnified in song,For the excellence of his glory,By haughty prosperity—hardened men.But at nightIn heaven wandereth Luna,The poor mother,With her orphaned, starry children;And she shines with a quiet sadness,And loving maidens and gentle poetsDedicate to her their tears and their songsPoor weak Luna! Womanly-natured,Still doth she love her beautiful consort.Towards evening pale and trembling,She peers forth from light clouds,And sadly gazes after the departing one,And in her anguish fain would call to him, "Come!Come! our children are pining for thee!"But the scornful sun-god,At the mere sight of his spouse,Glows in doubly-dyed purple,With wrath and grief,And implacably he hastens downwardTo the cold waves of his widowed couch.
The glowing red sun descendsInto the wide, tremulousSilver-gray ocean.Ethereal, rosy tinted formsAre wreathed behind him, and opposite,Through the veil of autumnal, twilight clouds,Like a sad, deathly-pale countenance,Breaks the moon,And after her, like sparks of light,In the misty distance, shimmer the stars.
Once there shone forth in heaven,Nuptially united.Luna the goddess, and Sol the god.And around them gathered the stars,Those innocent little children.
But evil tongues whispered dissension,And in bitterness partedThe lofty, illustrious pair.
Now all day in lonely splendorThe sun-god fares overhead,Worshiped and magnified in song,For the excellence of his glory,By haughty prosperity—hardened men.But at nightIn heaven wandereth Luna,The poor mother,With her orphaned, starry children;And she shines with a quiet sadness,And loving maidens and gentle poetsDedicate to her their tears and their songs
Poor weak Luna! Womanly-natured,Still doth she love her beautiful consort.Towards evening pale and trembling,She peers forth from light clouds,And sadly gazes after the departing one,And in her anguish fain would call to him, "Come!Come! our children are pining for thee!"But the scornful sun-god,At the mere sight of his spouse,Glows in doubly-dyed purple,With wrath and grief,And implacably he hastens downwardTo the cold waves of his widowed couch.
Thus did evil-whispering tonguesBring grief and ruinEven upon the immortal gods.And the poor gods in heaven abovePainfully wanderDisconsolate on their eternal path,And cannot die;And drag with themThe chain of their glittering misery.But I, the son of man,The lowly-born, the death-crowned one,I murmur no more.
Thus did evil-whispering tonguesBring grief and ruinEven upon the immortal gods.And the poor gods in heaven abovePainfully wanderDisconsolate on their eternal path,And cannot die;And drag with themThe chain of their glittering misery.
But I, the son of man,The lowly-born, the death-crowned one,I murmur no more.
Starless and cold is the night,The sea yawns;And outstretched flat on his paunch, over the sea,Lies the uncouth North-wind.Secretly with a groaning, stifled voice,Like a peevish, crabbed man in a freak of good humor,He babbles to the ocean,And recounts many a mad tale,Stories of murderous giants,Quaint old Norwegian Sagas,And from time to time, with re-echoing laughter,He howls forthThe conjuration-songs of the Edda,With Runic proverbsSo mysteriously arrogant, so magically powerful,That the white children of the seaHigh in the air upspring and rejoice,Intoxicated with insolence.Meanwhile on the level beach,Over the wave-wetted sand,Strides a stranger whose heartIs still wilder than wind or wave.Where his feet fallSparks are scattered and shells are cracked.And he wraps himself closer in his gray mantle,And walks rapidly through the windy night,Surely guided by a little light,That kindly and invitingly beamsFrom the lonely fisherman's hut.Father and brother are on the sea,And quite alone in the hutBides the fisher's daughter,The fisher's rarely-beautiful daughter.She sits on the hearth,And listens to the cosy auspicious humOf the boiling kettle,And lays crackling fagots upon the fire.And blows thereon,Till the flickering red flamesWith a magic charm are reflectedOn her blooming face.On her delicate white shouldersWhich so pathetically outpeepFrom the coarse gray smock,And on her little tidy handWhich gathers more closely the petticoatAbout her dainty loins.But suddenly the door springs wide,And in steps the nocturnal strangerHis eyes rest with confident loveOn the slim, white maiden,Who stands trembling before him,Like a frightened lily.And he flings his mantle to the groundAnd laughs and speaks."Thou see'st my child! I keep my word.And I come, and with me, comesThe olden time when the gods of heavenDescended to the daughters of men,And embraced the daughters of men,And begot with themA race of sceptre-bearing kings,And heroes, the wonder of the world.But thou my child, no longer stand amazedAt my divinity.And I beseech thee, boil me some tea with rum,For it is cold out doors,And in such a night-air as this,Even we, the eternal gods, must freeze.And we easily catch a divine catarrh,And an immortal cough."
Starless and cold is the night,The sea yawns;And outstretched flat on his paunch, over the sea,Lies the uncouth North-wind.Secretly with a groaning, stifled voice,Like a peevish, crabbed man in a freak of good humor,He babbles to the ocean,And recounts many a mad tale,Stories of murderous giants,Quaint old Norwegian Sagas,And from time to time, with re-echoing laughter,He howls forthThe conjuration-songs of the Edda,With Runic proverbsSo mysteriously arrogant, so magically powerful,That the white children of the seaHigh in the air upspring and rejoice,Intoxicated with insolence.
Meanwhile on the level beach,Over the wave-wetted sand,Strides a stranger whose heartIs still wilder than wind or wave.Where his feet fallSparks are scattered and shells are cracked.And he wraps himself closer in his gray mantle,And walks rapidly through the windy night,Surely guided by a little light,That kindly and invitingly beamsFrom the lonely fisherman's hut.
Father and brother are on the sea,And quite alone in the hutBides the fisher's daughter,The fisher's rarely-beautiful daughter.She sits on the hearth,And listens to the cosy auspicious humOf the boiling kettle,And lays crackling fagots upon the fire.And blows thereon,Till the flickering red flamesWith a magic charm are reflectedOn her blooming face.On her delicate white shouldersWhich so pathetically outpeepFrom the coarse gray smock,And on her little tidy handWhich gathers more closely the petticoatAbout her dainty loins.
But suddenly the door springs wide,And in steps the nocturnal strangerHis eyes rest with confident loveOn the slim, white maiden,Who stands trembling before him,Like a frightened lily.And he flings his mantle to the groundAnd laughs and speaks."Thou see'st my child! I keep my word.And I come, and with me, comesThe olden time when the gods of heavenDescended to the daughters of men,And embraced the daughters of men,And begot with themA race of sceptre-bearing kings,And heroes, the wonder of the world.But thou my child, no longer stand amazedAt my divinity.And I beseech thee, boil me some tea with rum,For it is cold out doors,And in such a night-air as this,Even we, the eternal gods, must freeze.And we easily catch a divine catarrh,And an immortal cough."
The sunbeams playedUpon the wide rolling sea.Far out on the roadstead glimmered the vesselThat was to bear me home.But the favoring wind was lacking,And still quietly I sat on the white down,By the lonely shore.And I read the lay of Odysseus,The old, the eternally-young lay,From whose billowy-rushing pagesJoyously into me ascendedThe breath of the gods,And the lustrous spring-tide of humanity,And the blooming skies of Hellas.My loyal heart faithfully followedThe son of Laertes in his wanderings and vexations,By his side I sat with troubled soul,On the hospitable hearthWhere queens were spinning purple.And I helped him to lie and happily to escapeFrom the dens of giants and the arms of nymphs.And I followed him into Cimmerian night,Into storm and shipwreck,And with him I suffered unutterable misery.With a sigh I spake: "Oh, thou cruel Poseidon,Fearful is thy wrath,And I myself trembleFor mine own journey home."Scarce had I uttered the words,When the sea foamed,And from the white billows aroseThe reed-crowned head of the sea-god.And disdainfully he cried:"Have no fear, Poetling!Not in the least will I imperilThy poor little ship.Neither will I harass thy precious lifeWith too considerable oscillations.For thou, Poetling, hast never offended me,Thou hast not injured a single turretOn the sacred stronghold of Priam.Not a single little lash hast thou singedIn the eyelid of my son Polyphemus;And never hast thou been sagely counselled and protectedBy the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene."Thus exclaimed Poseidon,And plunged again into the sea.And, at his coarse sailor-wit,Laughed under the waterAmphitrite, the stout fishwoman,And the stupid daughters of Nereus.
The sunbeams playedUpon the wide rolling sea.Far out on the roadstead glimmered the vesselThat was to bear me home.But the favoring wind was lacking,And still quietly I sat on the white down,By the lonely shore.
And I read the lay of Odysseus,The old, the eternally-young lay,From whose billowy-rushing pagesJoyously into me ascendedThe breath of the gods,And the lustrous spring-tide of humanity,And the blooming skies of Hellas.
My loyal heart faithfully followedThe son of Laertes in his wanderings and vexations,By his side I sat with troubled soul,On the hospitable hearthWhere queens were spinning purple.
And I helped him to lie and happily to escapeFrom the dens of giants and the arms of nymphs.And I followed him into Cimmerian night,Into storm and shipwreck,And with him I suffered unutterable misery.
With a sigh I spake: "Oh, thou cruel Poseidon,Fearful is thy wrath,And I myself trembleFor mine own journey home."Scarce had I uttered the words,When the sea foamed,And from the white billows aroseThe reed-crowned head of the sea-god.And disdainfully he cried:"Have no fear, Poetling!Not in the least will I imperilThy poor little ship.Neither will I harass thy precious lifeWith too considerable oscillations.For thou, Poetling, hast never offended me,Thou hast not injured a single turretOn the sacred stronghold of Priam.Not a single little lash hast thou singedIn the eyelid of my son Polyphemus;And never hast thou been sagely counselled and protectedBy the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene."
Thus exclaimed Poseidon,And plunged again into the sea.And, at his coarse sailor-wit,Laughed under the waterAmphitrite, the stout fishwoman,And the stupid daughters of Nereus.