THE NORTH SEA.

Oh songs of mine! belovèd songs of mine, Up, up! and don your armor, And let the trumpets blare, And lift upon your shield This youthful maiden Who now shall reign supreme Over my heart, as queen! Hail! hail! thou youthful queen! From the sun above I snatch the beaming red gold, And weave therewith a diadem For 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 court Of richly-attired sonnets, Haughty Terzine and 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 me By thy predecessor in the realm.

On the wan shore of the sea Lonely I sat with troubled thoughts. The sun dropped lower, and cast Glowing 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 nestled On the stone steps of the porch. With little eager hearts, And wistful cunning eyes, Whilst the grown maidens Sat opposite at their windows Near their sweet-smelling flower pots, With their rosy faces, Smiling and beaming in the moonlight.

The glowing red sun descends Into the wide, tremulous Silver-gray ocean. Ethereal, rosy tinted forms Are 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 parted The lofty, illustrious pair. Now all day in lonely splendor The sun-god fares overhead, Worshiped and magnified in song, For the excellence of his glory, By haughty prosperity—hardened men. But at night In heaven wandereth Luna, The poor mother, With her orphaned, starry children; And she shines with a quiet sadness, And loving maidens and gentle poets Dedicate 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 downward To the cold waves of his widowed couch.

Thus did evil-whispering tongues Bring grief and ruin Even upon the immortal gods. And the poor gods in heaven above Painfully wander Disconsolate on their eternal path, And cannot die; And drag with them The 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 forth The conjuration-songs of the Edda, With Runic proverbs So mysteriously arrogant, so magically powerful, That the white children of the sea High in the air upspring and rejoice, Intoxicated with insolence. Meanwhile on the level beach, Over the wave-wetted sand, Strides a stranger whose heart Is still wilder than wind or wave. Where his feet fall Sparks 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 beams From the lonely fisherman's hut. Father and brother are on the sea, And quite alone in the hut Bides the fisher's daughter, The fisher's rarely-beautiful daughter. She sits on the hearth, And listens to the cosy auspicious hum Of the boiling kettle, And lays crackling fagots upon the fire. And blows thereon, Till the flickering red flames With a magic charm are reflected On her blooming face. On her delicate white shoulders Which so pathetically outpeep From the coarse gray smock, And on her little tidy hand Which gathers more closely the petticoat About her dainty loins. But suddenly the door springs wide, And in steps the nocturnal stranger His eyes rest with confident love On the slim, white maiden, Who stands trembling before him, Like a frightened lily. And he flings his mantle to the ground And laughs and speaks. "Thou see'st my child! I keep my word. And I come, and with me, comes The olden time when the gods of heaven Descended to the daughters of men, And embraced the daughters of men, And begot with them A race of sceptre-bearing kings, And heroes, the wonder of the world. But thou my child, no longer stand amazed At 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 played Upon the wide rolling sea. Far out on the roadstead glimmered the vessel That 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 pages Joyously into me ascended The breath of the gods, And the lustrous spring-tide of humanity, And the blooming skies of Hellas. My loyal heart faithfully followed The son of Laertes in his wanderings and vexations, By his side I sat with troubled soul, On the hospitable hearth Where queens were spinning purple. And I helped him to lie and happily to escape From 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 tremble For mine own journey home." Scarce had I uttered the words, When the sea foamed, And from the white billows arose The reed-crowned head of the sea-god. And disdainfully he cried: "Have no fear, Poetling! Not in the least will I imperil Thy poor little ship. Neither will I harass thy precious life With too considerable oscillations. For thou, Poetling, hast never offended me, Thou hast not injured a single turret On the sacred stronghold of Priam. Not a single little lash hast thou singed In the eyelid of my son Polyphemus; And never hast thou been sagely counselled and protected By the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene." Thus exclaimed Poseidon, And plunged again into the sea. And, at his coarse sailor-wit, Laughed under the water Amphitrite, the stout fishwoman, And the stupid daughters of Nereus.

Shadowing downward came dusky evening, Wildly the breakers rolled, I sat alone upon the shore and gazed At the white dance of the waves. And my bosom heaved with the sea, A deep homesickness yearningly seized my heart For 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 overflowing That 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 it Into 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 blaze Those eternal letters of flame. And all future generations of our descendants Shall 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 stars Glistens and glows my love, Thou little, youthful maiden, Come unto my mighty heart. My heart, and the sea, and the heavens Are 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 are Of my darling, and they twinkle, And they beckon to me kindly From 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 overfloweth With 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 gentle Hold above my head their vigil; And they glimmer and they beckon From the azure vault of heaven. On the azure vault of heaven, Still I gaze through blessed hours, Till a white and filmy vapor Veils from me those eyes belovèd.

Against the wooden wall of the ship Where my dreaming head reclines, Break the waves, the wild sea-waves. They whisper and murmur Close into mine ear: "Oh foolish young fellow, Thine arm is short and the sky is far off, And the stars are all firmly nailed above With 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.

The tempest is raging. It lashes the waves, And the waves foaming and rearing in wrath Tower on high, and the white mountains of water Surge as though they were alive, While the little ship over-climbs them With laborious haste, And suddenly plunges down Into 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 me The white, ghostly sea-mew, And whets his beak on the mast. And hungers with glutton-greed for the heart Which 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 howl Like a bedlam of tones. And amidst them, distinctly I hear Alluring 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 out Over the breaking waves,— There at the lofty-arched window Stands 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 song Over the wide, stormy sea.

Calm at sea! The sunbeams flicker Falling on the level water, And athwart the liquid jewels Ploughs the ship her emerald furrows. By the rudder lies the pilot On his stomach, gently snoring, Near the mast, the tarry ship-boy Stoops at work, the sail repairing. 'Neath their smut his cheeks are ruddy, Hotly flushed,—his broad mouth twitches. Full of sadness are the glances Of his eyes so large and lovely. For the captain stands before him, Raves and scolds and curses: "Rascal! Little rascal, thou hast robbed me Of a herring from the barrel." Calm at sea! above the water comes a cunning fish out-peeping. Warms his little head in sunshine, Merrily his small fins plashing. But from airy heights, the sea-mew On the little fish darts downward. Carrying in his beak his booty Back he soars into the azure.

I however lay on the edge of the vessel, And gazed with dreamy eyes Down 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 emperors Kept 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-faces Decently encircled by their black hoods, And their waving golden hair. Motley-clad folk in Spanish garb Strut past and salute each other. Elderly dames In brown, old-fashioned attire, Missal and rosary in hand, Hasten with tripping steps Towards 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 also With mysterious awe. Insatiable yearning, profound sadness Steal into my heart, Into my scarcely-healed heart. I feel as if its wounds Were 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 more Thy 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 moment The 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 night Hast tortured my heart with a counterfeit happiness, And which now as a vision of the sea Dost threaten me even in the broad daylight. Remain there below to all eternity! And I cast moreover down unto thee All my sorrows and sins, And the cap and bells of folly That have jingled so long upon my head. And the cold, sleek serpent's skin Of dissimulation, Which so long has enwound my soul— My sick soul, My God-denying, angel-denying Wretched soul. Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! Here comes the breeze. Up with the sails! They flutter and belly to the wind. Over the treacherous smooth plain Hastens the ship And 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 raiment He strode gigantically tall Over land and sea. His head touched heaven, He spread his hands in benediction Over land and sea; And for a heart in his bosom He bore the sun, The red fiery sun, And the red, fiery sun-heart Showered its beams of grace, And its pure love-bestowing light, That illumines and warms Over land and sea. Peals of festal bells drew hither and thither, As swans might draw by chains of roses The smooth-gliding vessel, And sportively drew it to the verdant banks, Where folk dwelt in a lofty-towered Overhanging 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 sympathy And, trembling with love and self denial, Kissed each other's brow, And glanced upward Towards the sun-heart of the Savior, Which in glad propitiation irradiated downward Its 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 paws Of thy lofty protectress, And hastenest with canting devotion To the Aulic councilor and to the councilor of justice, And at last to the council of the Realm In the pious city, Where sand and faith flourish, And the long-suffering waters of the sacred Spree Purify souls and dilute tea. Couldst thou have conceived this vision Most 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 mightinesses Ravished 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!"