And all as before heard in silence the king-- Till a youth, with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 'Mid the tremulous squires, stept out from the ring, Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle;
"Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore, And behold: he is whirled in the grasp of the main." --SCHILLER. _From a photogravure after drawing by A. Michaelis._]
And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder, On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder.
As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave One glance on the gulf of that merciless main; Lo! the wave that for ever devours the wave, Casts roaringly up the charybdis again; And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.
And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, As when fire is with water commixed and contending; And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars, And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending. And it never will rest, nor from travail be free, Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea.
And at last there lay open the desolate realm! Through the breakers that whitened the waste of the swell, Dark--dark yawned a cleft in the midst of the whelm, The path to the heart of that fathomless hell. Round and round whirled the waves--deep and deeper still driven, Like a gorge thro' the mountainous main thunder-riven.
The youth gave his trust to his Maker! Before That path through the riven abyss closed again-- Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore, And, behold! he is whirled in the grasp of the main! And o'er him the breakers mysteriously rolled, And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.
O'er the surface grim silence lay dark and profound, But the deep from below murmured hollow and fell; And the crowd, as it shuddered, lamented aloud-- "Gallant youth--noble heart--fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well!" And still ever deepening that wail as of woe, More hollow the gulf sent its howl from below.
If thou should'st in those waters thy diadem fling, And cry, "Who may find it shall win it, and wear;" God's wot, though the prize were the crown of a king-- A crown at such hazard were valued too dear. For never did lips of the living reveal, What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.