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FIFTH SONG
ARNLJOT’S YEARNING FOR THE SEA
For the sea, the sea, my spirit is yearning,
Where wide it heaves in its calm majestic.
Bearing its burden of mountainous fog-banks,
Eternally rolling in self-communion.
Though the heavens bend down, and the shores are calling,
It is restless ever, and knows no yielding.
In the nights of summer, the winter tempests,
It voices ever its plaint of longing.
For the sea, for the sea, my spirit is yearning,
Where wide it raises its frigid forehead!
Upon it the world casts its darksome shadow,
And all its murmuring sorrow mirrors.
But also the sun gives it light-warm greeting,
And blithely tells of the joy of living.
Yet moodily quiet, and ice-cold ever
In its depths are swallowed comfort and sorrow.
The full moon draws it, the hurricane stirs it,
But they lose their grasp, and on streams the water.
The lowlands are melted, the highlands crumble,
As even it sweeps on its way eternal.
What it draws with it, its course must follow,
What sinks beneath, is submerged forever.
No cry is heard, and there comes no message,
And its own speech may none interpret.
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