THE sea was running high and was black as night. Only the crests of the endless waves glistened in the lightning that flashed across the heavens. The storm was raging towards the land and threw the ships upon the rocks, so that hundreds of human lives perished in the ocean. Then of a sudden it seemed as though the storm grew entangled among the cliffs on the shore, and condensed into a form that reared up tall and pale against the mighty heavens. It was a grave youth with unflinching black eyes, who leaned upon a sickle and held an hour-glass in his hand. He gazed across the waters with an indifferent air, as though the wrecks, and corpses beneath, concerned him as little as the sand in his glass, which trickled down evenly, steadily, regardless of the blustering of the storm, or the sudden quiet. There was something iron-like in the youth's features, in his eyes there lay a power that destroyed all things they looked upon; even the ocean seemed to be numbed by them, and to grow silent with fear. Day dawned, and flooded with roseate hues from the rising sun. Sorrow came stepping over the cliffs. She stretched out her arms to the youth.
"Brother," she cried, "brother, what have you done! You have raged terribly, and did not hear how I called you, ay, cried for you so eagerly."
"I heard nothing," said Death. "I felt myself too quiet, so I roused myself. A few vessels were lost in the act."
"O pitiless one!" said Sorrow.
"I do not comprehend your grief," answered the somber youth; and turning from her, he walked away. He paced silently through the sunny world; it blew chill around him, and wherever he paused a silent shudder seized all things. He went by a house and looked in. There lay a man tortured with pain who beheld him and called him imploringly; but he only shook his head and went further. A lovely young woman stood in her garden surrounded by joyous children, her husband had just stepped up to her and kissed her. The pale wanderer laid his hand on her shoulder and beckoned to her; she followed him a few steps and sank lifeless to the ground.
Then he came to a forest in which a pale man was pacing hither and thither, tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth, crying—
"Dishonored, dishonored!"
He saw the passer-by with the somber eyes, saw him lift his white hand and point to a tree. The despairing man understood the signal.
He passed a group of playing children, and softly mowed the grass between their feet with his scythe. Then they bowed their heads like broken flowerets.
There an old man sat in an armchair, and was enjoying the warming sunbeams. Death raised his hour-glass and held it before his eyes—the last sands were running down.