"How beautiful is the sun!" Thus spake after a long silence, the friend Who wandered with me on the beach. And, half in jest, half in sober sadness, He assured me that the sun Was a beautiful woman, who had for policy Espoused the old god of the sea. All day she wanders joyously In the lofty heavens, decked with purple, And sparkling with diamonds; Universally beloved, universally admired By all creatures of the globe, And cheering all creatures of the globe With the radiance and warmth of her glance. But at evening, wretchedly constrained, She returns once more To the wet home, to the empty arms Of her hoary spouse. "Believe me," added my friend, And laughed and sighed, and laughed again, "They live down there in the daintiest wedlock; Either they sleep or else they quarrel, Until high upheaves the sea above them, And the sailor amidst the roaring of the waves can hear How the old fellow berates his wife: 'Round strumpet of the universe! Sunbeam coquette! The whole day you shine for others, And at night for me you are frosty and tired.' After such curtain lectures,-- Quite naturally--bursts into tears The proud sun, and bemoans her misery, And bemoans so lamentably long, that the sea god Suddenly springs desperately out of his bed, And quickly swims up to the surface of the ocean, To collect his wits and to breathe." Thus did I myself see him yester-night, Uprise from the bosom of the sea. He had a jacket of yellow flannel, And a lily-white night cap, And a withered countenance. V. THE SONG OF THE OCEANIDES. 'Tis nightfall and paler grows the sea. And alone with his lonely soul, There sits a man on the cold strand And turns his death-cold glances Towards the vast, death-cold vault of heaven, And toward the vast, billowy sea. On airy sails float forth his sighs; And melancholy they return, And find the heart close-locked, Wherein they fain would anchor. And he groans so loud that the white sea-mews, Startled out of their sandy nests, Flutter circling around him. And he laughingly speaks to them thus: "Ye black-legged birds, With white wings, oversea flutterers! 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!