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. IV. NIGHT ON THE SHORE. 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.