I shall know a strange unrest,
Be of old desires possessed,
Passionate to ride the crest
Of the storm, North, South, East, West—
Ay, and by your strong arm pressed
Win no sleep more on your breast.
(Sound tho' you sleep, Wêland-Smith.)
"In the ninth year I shall hear,
(Will you hear, too, Wêland-Smith?)
In the ninth year I shall hear