“I wander over, And every tear To gem our pleasure Will then appear. A few more hours, And I find my rest In maddening bliss, On the loved one’s breast. Life, never ending, Swells mighty in me; I look from above down— Look back upon thee. By yonder hillock Expires thy beam; And comes with a shadow, The cooling gleam. Oh, call me, thou loved one, With strength from above; That I may slumber, And wake to love. I welcome death’s Reviving flood; To balm and to ether It changes my blood. I live through each day, Filled with faith and desire; And die when the Night comes In heaven-born fire.” V. OVER the widely-spreading races of mankind, ruled aforetime an iron Destiny with silent power. A dark and heavy band was around man’s anxious soul; without end was the earth; the home of the gods and their abode. Throughout eternities had her mysterious structure stood. Beyond the red mountains of the morning, in the holy bosom of the sea, there dwelt the Sun, the all-inflaming, living light. A hoary giant bare the sacred world. Securely prisoned, beneath mountains, lay the first sons of the mother Earth, powerless in their destructive fury against the new and glorious race of the gods, and their kindred, joyous men. The dark, green ocean’s depth was the bosom of a goddess. In the crystal grottoes rioted a voluptuous tribe. Rivers, trees, flowers, and brute beasts had human understanding. Sweeter was the wine poured forth by youth’s soft bloom; a god in the vine’s clusters; a loving, a maternal goddess, shooting forth among the full, golden sheaves; love’s holy flame, a delicious service to the most beauteous of the goddesses. An ever gay and joyous festival of heaven’s children and the dwellers upon earth, life rustled on as a spring, through centuries. All races venerated, like children, the tender, thousand-fold flame, as the highest of the world; one thought only was there, one hideous vision of a dream:— “That fearful to the joyous tables came, And the gay soul in wild distraction shrouded. Here could the gods themselves no counsel frame, That might console the breast with sorrow clouded. This monster’s path mysterious, still the same, Unstilled his rage, though prayers on gifts were crowded. His name was Death, who with distress of soul, Anguish and tears, on the hour of pleasure stole. For ever now from everything departed That here can swell the heart with sweet delight, Torn now from the beloved one, who, sad-hearted, On earth could but desire and grief excite, A feeble dream seemed to the dead imparted, Powerless striving made man’s only right; And broken was enjoyment’s heaving billow, Upon the rock of endless care, its pillow.