Part 2 — THE SON OF SORROW.

A FABLE FROM THE SWEDISH.

All lonely, excluded from Heaven,

Sat Sorrow one day on the strand;

And, mournfully buried in thought,

Form’d a figure of clay with her hand.

Jove appeared. “What is this?” he demands;

She replied. “’Tis a figure of clay.

Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand;

Give it life, mighty Father, I pray!”

“Let him live!” said the God. “But observe,

As I lend him, he mine must remain.”

“Not so,” Sorrow said, and implor’d,

“Oh! let me my offspring retain!

“’Tis to me his creation he owes.”

“Yes,” said Jove, “but’twas I gave him breath.”

As he spoke, Earth appears on the scene,

And, observing the image, thus saith:

“From me—from my bosom he’s torn,

I demand, then, what’s taken from me.”

“This strife shall be settled,” said Jove;

“Let Saturn decide ’tween the three.”

This sentence the Judge gave. “To all

He belongs, so let no one complain;

The life, Jove, Thou gav’st him shalt Thou

With his soul, when he dies, take again.

“Thou, Earth, shalt receive back his frame,

At peace in thy lap he’ll recline;

But during his whole troubled life,

He shall surely, O Sorrow, be thine!

“His features thy look shall reflect;

Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath;

And he ne’er shall be parted from thee

Until he reposes in death!”

MORAL.

The sentence of Heaven, then is this:

And hence Man lies under the sod;

Though Sorrow possesses him, living,

He returns both to Earth and to God.