Néktek szent legyen e' lant: 'Amor, Grátia, Phœbus.
Hangját Phœbus adá, tüzit 'Amor, Grátia báját.
Kölcsey.
He lingers on the ocean shore,
The seaman in his boat;
The water-spirit's music o'er
The ruffled wave doth float.
"Maiden of beauty! counselled be,
The tempest wakes from out the sea."
"I may not stay," the maiden cried,
"Tho' loud the tempest blow;
That meadow on the water side—
That cottage—bids me go.
That shady grove, that murmurs near,
Invites me—he I love is there."
"The wave is high—the storm is loud,
And dangers rise anon."—
"But hope sits smiling on the cloud,
Storms drive the vessel on.
And joy and sorrow both convey
Man's mortal bark along its way."
Into the seaman's boat she stept,
The helm the seaman took;
The storming billows fiercely swept,
And all the horizon shook.
The maiden spoke"—Ye fears, be gone!
The storm-wind drives the vessel on."
"O maiden! darker is the sky,
And fiercer is the wind;
Alas! there is no harbour nigh,
No refuge can we find.
A whirlpool is the angry sea,
It will engulph both thee and me."
"No, seaman! fortune always shone
And still will shine on me;
Soon will the stormy clouds be gone,
And sunbeams calm the sea,
And evening bring the promised dove,
And evening guide me to my love."
She turned her to the distant strand,
(He stood upon the spot)—
In sweet delirium stretched her hand,
And winds and waves forgot.
So is love's spirit overfraught
With love's intensity of thought.
He stood—a statue on the shore,
A pale—ice-hardened form:
The billows battling more and more,
And louder waxed the storm.
Clouds—waves, all mingled—and the boat?
Its scattered planks asunder float,
Where is she? Ask the storm! for he
No single tear has shed;
And he? Go ask the silent sea—
Its echoes answer "Dead!"
I held communion with its waves,
But could not find the lovers' graves.