Once more the genie spoke: "Something I owe To thee, thou fool, thou fool. Come, canst thou sing? Yea? Sing then; if thy song be brave, then go Free and released -- or no! Find first some task, some overmastering thing I cannot do, and find it speedily, For if thou dost not thou shalt surely die!" The sword whirled back. The fisherman uprose, And if at first his voice was weak with fear And his limbs trembled, it was but a doze, And at the high song's close He stood up straight. His voice rang loud and clear. The Song. Last night the quays were lighted; Cressets of smoking pine Glared o'er the roaring mariners That drink the yellow wine. Their song rolled to the rafters, It struck the high stars pale, Such worth was in their discourse, Such wonder in their tale. Blue borage filled the clinking cups, The murky night grew wan, Till one rose, crowned with laurel-leaves, That was an outland man. "Come, let us drink to war!" said he, "The torch of the sacked town! The swan's-bath and the wolf-ships, And Harald of renown! "Yea, while the milk was on his lips, Before the day was born, He took the Almayne Kaiser's head To be his drinking-horn! "Yea, while the down was on his chin, Or yet his beard was grown, He broke the gates of Micklegarth, And stole the lion-throne! "Drink to Harald, king of the world, Lord of the tongue and the troth! To the bellowing horns of Ostfriesland, And the trumpets of the Goth!" Their shouts rolled to the rafters, The drink-horns crashed and rang, And all their talk was a clangor of war, As swords together sang! _But dimly, through the deep night, Where stars like flowers shone, A passionate shape came gliding -- I saw one thing alone. I only saw my young love Shining against the dark, The whiteness of her raiment, The head that bent to hark. I only saw my young love, Like flowers in the sun -- Her hands like waxen petals, Where yawning poppies run. I only felt there, chrysmal, Against my cheek her breath, Though all the winds were baying, And the sky bright with Death._ Red sparks whirled up the chimney, A hungry flaught of flame, And a lean man from Greece arose; Thrasyllos was his name. "I praise all noble wines!" he cried, "Green robes of tissue fine, Peacocks and apes and ivory, And Homer's sea-loud line, "Statues and rings and carven gems, And the wise crawling sea; But most of all the crowns of kings, The rule they wield thereby!