| |
| THE SHIP was bursting with a mighty crash: | |
| Ablaze were bow and deck and every mast. | |
| The old boat pitching rose to port: a splash— | |
| A surging of gray waves—the gale’s shrill blast— | |
| Thundering orders—prayers—then cry on cry— | 5 |
| A blow, a headlong fall—God stand me by!— | |
| Down, down. Black night upon all senses fell. | |
| |
| Mate, fill my glass! This yarn is long to tell. | |
| |
| ’Twas in the deep I saw—I saw that sight. | |
| They have no day down there, they have no night. | 10 |
| The sand is shimmering green. There planks lie scattered, | |
| Beside a giant mast in splinters shattered. | |
| And up from pallid vines rise bubbles whirling— | |
| From vines that evermore are swaying, curling, | |
| Their long and wary tendril-arms unfurling. | 15 |
| And glistening shells among the wreckage lie | |
| That snap without a sound when prey floats by, | |
| And there are fish with lustre livid pale | |
| That beat their tails transparent as a veil. | |
| |
| A restless host is wandering on down there, | 20 |
| A thousand thousand, an unnumbered band. | |
| Their hands are stiff, their eyes unseeing stare; | |
| With leaden feet they wade across the sand, | |
| Wayfarers lost without a path or way— | |
| Blue-jackets, grimy fellows, women folding | 25 |
| Limp arms round languid infants they are holding— | |
| Who lived on sunken ships. Forlorn they stray, | |
| Their names are lost, they wear strange garbs of yore— | |
| All those who went and then returned no more. | |
| |
| I saw them all like pallid phantoms pass, | 30 |
| As though I watched them through a blurring glass. | |
| One beckoned dumbly as he passed me by, | |
| And so I followed him, I knew not why. | |
| The way was endless and it grew and grew; | |
| Our feet were tired and they stumbled too. | 35 |
| And him who fell, his helping neighbour raised. | |
| A woman slipped and when I helped her, dazed | |
| She hung upon my neck, a load of lead. | |
| Deep blue abysses gaped. And overhead, | |
| Like clouds upon the water gray and pale, | 40 |
| The shadows passed of many a giant whale. | |
| |
| One man I looked at more than all the rest, | |
| His languid head hung limp upon his breast: | |
| And then I knew old Peter Jens, the rover, | |
| Who once went overboard, at night, by Dover. | 45 |
| I gently pulled his ragged shirt to say— | |
| And then my voice seemed strange and far away— | |
| “Where are you bound?”—He looked with glassy eye. | |
| “We’re seeking, seeking, seeking!” his reply. | |
| “What are you seeking, Jens?”—He answered: “Land!” | 50 |
| Then all about who with us crept and drifted, | |
| Their weary, pale and anguished faces lifted. | |
| A wailing trembled all along the sand. | |
| |
| Yet all at once my power seemed to gain. | |
| I turned about with mighty voice to call | 55 |
| Unto this lifeless, ever wandering train: | |
| “Now courage! Follow me! God leads us all!” | |
| |
| My heart was quickened and it beat again, | |
| And ever through the void all pale and still | |
| I was drawn onward by an unknown will; | 60 |
| Behind me crept that endless gloomy train. | |
| How long a time elapsed, I did not know. | |
| At times the darkness fainter seemed to grow— | |
| The gloom that hung about on every hand— | |
| And on the hard and livid waves of sand | 65 |
| Something arose quite near that seemed like land— | |
| Within our grasp! And then again it faded. | |
| The ugly brood that lurks within the deep | |
| Pursued us lazily. Then faint and jaded, | |
| Lost in the mighty void, we cannot keep | 70 |
| Our courage; stifled, all our hopes must cease— | |
| No morning dawns! Ah, there is no release! | |
| Wherefore this torment? | |
| Faint they reeled and stayed | |
| Worn out, beneath the everlasting shade. | 75 |
| “Where art Thou, God?” I cried, but no sound made.— | |
| —Now, now: a point! A sudden glimmer bright! | |
| A crevice burst—a flood of light was gleaming, | |
| The earth and sky with golden glow were streaming! | |
| Salvation! Hail! A rushing for the light! | 80 |
| I hurled the woman up unto the strand | |
| And staggered, with my last force crying: “Land!” | |
| |
| Here, mate! My glass is empty. Fill it, lad! | |
| What next? Why, nothing. I can tell no more. | |
| I only know—the night was very bad— | 85 |
| They found me lying on the Scottish shore. | |
| My ship? The wreck? God knows where that had stranded. | |
| All those who in the night with me had landed | |
| Were dead and cold. They’ve found a resting-place: | |
| A bit of earth, a cross. God give them grace! | 90 |
| |
| Sometimes at night when there’s a creaking, crashing | |
| And when the whistling winds the yards are thrashing, | |
| Against the hatches angry waves are splashing— | |
| Then it comes over me: I seem to wander | |
| Forever with those thousand others yonder! | 95 |
| Many I’ve seen for years, but ever more | |
| Newcomers join—each night a mighty band! | |
| Sometimes I find one whom I knew before; | |
| He nods and dumbly stretches out his hand. | |
| And many a comrade in that silent throng | 100 |
| I’ve borne upon my back or dragged along. | |
| I see them, all the sea did ever swallow; | |
| The others, too, I see: those yet to follow— | |
| Many a youth who laughs with us to-day, | |
| Upon whose heart no thoughts of dying weigh. | 105 |
| And step for step through all the night we go, | |
| Deep, deep down there. | |
| Jan Witt, ah, well you know, | |
| No shaking then can wake me from my dream, | |
| E’en should you shout to wake the dead, and scream. | 110 |
| But I come back at early dawn of day, | |
| When in the east the blackness turns to gray; | |
| Then I awake. My head is dull and weighs | |
| Like lead. And then I cannot laugh for days. | |
| Ho, fellows, why so dumb? A roundelay! | 115 |
| For what the morrow brings, who cares to-day? | |
| Heads high and gay! Our sailors’ custom keep! | |
| We men, when we’re at home or when we fare | |
| On foreign seas, each day our shroud must wear. | |
| And He above—He also knows the deep! | 120 |
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