In Heine's North Sea poems we hear, for the first time in German poetry, the roar of the ocean, with all its freshness and in all its might. Here for the first time we have shells in the sand beneath our feet, and sea-gulls in the air above us. The sea is painted in storm and calm, from the shore and from the ship, by day and by night, with the peace that at times lies over it, and with the madness of the hurricane; we have the sweet day-dreams to which it gives rise, and also the sea-sickness; there arise from its depths and there hover over its expanse a whole company of mythic figures, old and new, old that have been metamorphosed into new, a world of gods and goddesses, Tritons and Oceanides, at times pathetic, more frequently burlesque. And yet there is comparatively little description; it is the poet's own memories, griefs, and hopes that fill these poems. And it is his intense longing to be able to breathe freely that breaks forth in the famous cry with which the ten thousand Greeks, after their long and terrible march, hailed the element that spoke to them of home: "Thalatta! Thalatta!--I salute thee, O eternal sea!" Amongst these poems are some of Heine's most beautiful and unforgettable. First there is the humorously frivolous idyll _Die Nacht am Strande_ ("Night by the Seashore"); the poet's visit to the pretty fisherman's daughter, with the masterly description of her appearance, as she sits bending over the fire: "Dass die flackernd rothen Lichter Zauberlieblich wiederstrahlen Auf das glühende Antlitz, Auf die zarte, weisse Schulter, Die rührend hervorlauscht Aus dem groben, grauen Hemde, Und auf die kleine, sorgsame Hand, Die das Unterröckchen fester bindet Um die feine Hüfte."[19] [19] Till the flashing, ruddy flame-rays Shine again in magic lustre On her glowing countenance, On the soft and snow-white shoulder Which so touchingly peers out From its coarse grey linen covering, And on the busy little hand Which is fastening the garment That conceals her slender limbs. (Adapted from LELAND.)