“Fear not, little poet! “I’ll not for one moment endanger “Thy poor little vessel, “And thy dear life shall not be tormented “By any critical tossing. “For thou, little poet, hast never annoy’d me, “No single turret was injured by thee “In Priam’s sacred fortress, “No single hair didst thou e’er singe “In the eye of my son Polyphemus, “And thou hast ne’er been advised or protected “By the goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athene!” Thus cried Poseidon, And sank ’neath the ocean again; And at the vulgar seaman’s wit Laugh’d under the water Amphitrite, the clumsy fishwoman, And the silly daughters of Nereus. 5. HOMAGE. Ye songs! O my trusty numbers! Up, up! and on with your arms Bid the trumpet to blow, And raise high on my shield The youthful maiden, Who’s now to rule my heart, My undivided heart, as queen. Hail to thee, youthful queen! From the sun on high Tear I his sparkling ruddy gold, And of it weave a diadem For thine anointed head. From the fluttering blue-silken heaven’s veil, Wherein night’s diamonds are gleaming, Cut I a costly piece, And hang, as coronation mantle, Upon thy regal shoulders. I give to thee, as courtiers, Some well-bedizen’d sonnets, Haughty terzinas and courtly stanzas; My wit shall serve thee as footman, And as court-fool my phantasy, As herald, the laughing tears on my scutcheon, My humour shall serve thee. But I, O my queen, Before thee kneel down, In homage, on red velvet cushion, And to thee hand over The small bit of reason, Which, out of compassion, was left me By her who last govern’d thy kingdom. 6. DECLARATION. Onward glimmering came the evening, Wilder tossèd the flood, And I sat on the strand, regarding The snowy dance of the billows, And soon my bosom swell’d like the sea; A deep home-sickness yearningly seized me For thee, thou darling form, Who everywhere surround’st me, And everywhere call’st me, Everywhere, everywhere, In the moan of the wind, in the roar of the ocean, In the sigh within my own breast. With brittle reed I wrote on the sand: “Agnes, I love thee!” But wicked billows soon pour’d themselves Over the blissful confession, Effacing it all. Ah too fragile reed, all fast-scatter’d sand, Ah fugitive billows, I’ll trust you no more! The heavens grow darker, my heart grows wilder And with vigorous hand from the forests of Norway Tear I the highest fir-tree, And plunge it deep In Etna’s glowing abyss, and thereafter With fire-imbued giant-pen I write on the dark veil of heaven: “Agnes, I love thee!” Every night gleams thenceforward On high that eternal fiery writing, And all generations of farthest descendants Read gladly the heavenly sentence: “Agnes, I love thee!”