The passions? Ah! sooner or later, their malady sweet Will vanish at reason’s behest; And life--when the circle of cold contemplation’s complete-- Is a stupid and frivolous jest. ⁂ Alone I pass along the lonely road, Thro’ gathering mist the pebbly pathway gleams; The night is still;--the void remembers God, And star vibrates to star with speaking beams. A wondrous glory moves across the sky; Soft sleeps the earth in dove-grey azure light. Why aches my heart? Why troubled thus am I? What wait I for, what grieve I for, this night? No more from life can I expect to gain, And for the “has been” it were vain to weep; I simply seek repose, release from pain, And fain would rest, forgetting all, in sleep. But not the sleep which the cold tomb implies; But rather would I rest for ages so That in my breast the strength of life might rise In gentle wavelets, heaving to and fro. The while that in my ears by night and day, A sweet voice sang of ceaseless love to me; And o’er me leaned, greening in every spray And faintly whispering, my dark cedar[3] tree. FOOTNOTES: [3] _Lit._, “oak.” ⁂ One wave upon another leaps, And splashes, murmuring loud; So men on men, in rolling heaps, Press on--a worthless crowd. The waves prefer their cold free-will To warmth the noonday gave; Souls men desire to have, yet still They’re colder than the wave. BALLAD. _THE QUEEN OF THE SEA._ The young Prince is swimming his steed in the sea; He heareth a voice: “Oh, Prince, look upon me!” Loud snorteth the steed as he pricks up his ears; He splashes the foam as he plunges and rears. Again hears the Prince: “A king’s daughter I be; Art thou willing to pass the whole evening with me?” Behold, from the water a white hand extends, And catches the reins by their silk tassel-ends. To the white hand a young face there quickly succeeds; In her locks are entangled the twisted seaweeds. Her blue eyes are gleaming with love’s wild delight; On her bosom the foam-drops like pearls sparkle bright. Then thinketh the Prince, “You must stay, lady fair;” And adroitly he windeth his hand in her hair. He has caught her. The hand of the warrior’s strong; She weeps and she prays as they struggle along. The Prince to the shore swimmeth on in his pride; He lands, and loud calls he his friends to his side. “Ho! come, my brave comrades, and look at my prey. Behold how she struggles! She’ll ne’er get away. “Why stand ye a terrified group on the shore? Ye have ne’er seen a beauty like this one before.” Back glanceth the Prince, with delight, on his prize; But the proud look of triumph soon fades from his eyes.