He oftentimes fancies he hears in the wind
The Northmen shouting out gladly;
He raises his arms with joyous haste,
Then lets them fall again sadly.
He oftentimes fancies he hears far above
The seamen their voices raising,
The great King Harold Harfagar
In songs heroical praising.
And then the king from the depth of his heart
Begins sobbing and wailing and sighing,
When quickly the water-fay over him bends,
With loving kisses replying.
24. THE LOWER WORLD.
I.
Many a time poor Pluto sigh’d thus:
“Were I but a single man!
“Since my married life began,
“Hell, I’ve learnt, was not a hell
“Till I to a wife was tied thus!
“Would that I remain’d still single!
“Since I Proserpine did wed,
“Each day wish I I was dead!
“With the bark of Cerberus
“Her loud scoldings ever mingle.
“Each attempt I make is fruitless
“After peace. There’s not a ghost
“Half so sad in all my host,
“And I envy Sisyphus,
“And the Danaid’s labour bootless.”