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 them How I, her beloved, 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 breakfast Upon the glistening b.u.t.tered 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 t.i.ttering.

The twilight mists ascended, Uncannily forth from lilac clouds Peered 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, compa.s.sionate mermaids, Distinct midst them all the lovely voice Of 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 t.i.tan, who stole celestial fire From the G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds, 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 world Into eternal night."

So rang the song of the Oceanides, Of the beautiful compa.s.sionate 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.

VI. THE G.o.dS OF GREECE.

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 G.o.ds Of gleaming marble.

No more again! those are no clouds!

They are themselves--the G.o.ds of h.e.l.las, 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 contemplate The 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 thyself With youths and nymphs and hecatombs.

But the G.o.ds themselves, reign not forever; The young supplant the old, As thou thyself, thy h.o.a.ry father, And thy t.i.tan-uncle didst supplant Jupiter-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 smite The divinely-quickened Virgin, And the miracle-performing son of G.o.d.

Thee also I recognize, Pallas Athena!

With thy shield and thy wisdom, could'st thou not avert The ruin of the G.o.ds?

Also thee I recognize, thee also, Aphrodite!

Once the golden, now the silvern!

'Tis true that the love-charmed zone still adorns thee But I shudder with horror at thy beauty.

And if thy gracious body were to favor me Like other heroes, I should die of terror.

Thou seemest to me a G.o.ddess-corpse, Venus Libitina!

No longer glances toward thee with love, Yonder the dread Ares!

How melancholy looks Phoebus Apollo The youth. His lyre is silent, Which once so joyously resounded at the feast of the G.o.ds.

Still sadder looks Hephaistos.

And indeed nevermore shall the limper Stumble into the service of Hebe, And nimbly pour forth to the a.s.semblage The luscious nectar. And long ago was extinguished The unextinguishable laughter of the G.o.ds.

I have never loved you, ye G.o.ds!

For to me are the Greeks antipathetic, And even the Romans are hateful.

But holy compa.s.sion and sacred pity Penetrate my heart, When I now gaze upon you yonder, Deserted G.o.ds!

Dead night-wandering shadows, Weak as mists which the wind scares away.

And when I recall how dastardly and visionary Are the G.o.ds who have supplanted you, The new, reigning, dolorous G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds,-- 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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds, he now takes the part Of the G.o.ds who have been vanquished.

Thus spake I, and lo, visibly blushed Yonder the wan cloud figures, And they gazed upon me like the dying, Transfigured by sorrow, and suddenly disappeared.

The moon was concealed Behind dark advancing clouds.

Loud roared the sea.

And triumphantly came forth in the heavens The eternal stars.

VII. THE PHOENIX.

A bird comes flying out of the West; He flies to the Eastward, Towards the Eastern garden-home, Where spices shed fragrance, and flourish, And palms rustle and fountains scatter coolness.

And in his flight the magic bird sings:

"She loves him! she loves him!

She carries his portrait in her little heart, And she carries it sweetly and secretly hidden, And knoweth it not herself!

But in dreams he stands before her.

She implores and weeps and kisses his hands, And calls his name, And calling she awakes, and she lies in affright, And amazed she rubs her beautiful eyes,-- She loves him! she loves him!"

Leaning on the mast on the upper deck, I stood and heard the bird's song.

Like blackish-green steeds with silver manes, Leapt the white crisp-curling waves.

Like flocks of swans glided past, With gleaming sails, the Helgolands, The bold nomads of the North Sea.

Above me in the eternal blue Fluttered white clouds, And sparkled the eternal sun, The Rose of heaven, the fire-blossoming, Which joyously was mirrored in the sea.

And the heavens and seas and mine own heart Resounded in echo-- She loves him! she loves him!

VIII. QUESTION.

By the sea, by the desolate nocturnal sea, Stands a youthful man, His breast full of sadness, his head full of doubt.

And with bitter lips he questions the waves: "Oh solve me the riddle of life!