MYSTERY IN LOVE

rolong

There have been mortals favorites of the guides as to whom it was given to understand the language of the lower animals and such I have ever envied for example beast and bird. I never seen or heard that there is a human who know these languages. I can go beyond and get to know the imperfect knowledge of their alphabet. This will enable me to spell out here and there a word of little meaning, but the great oceans ceasing speech is ever plain to me and many more people. When I passed through cool sands that go to my island home and listened with a lot of attention, I come to know some secrets. Sudden breeze that kissed its bosom. Strange stories of wreck and race, wild wars and desperate deeds mingled with those of love and honor, shame and sacrifice crowding upon each other like spectors in a dream. One night, when the new moon hung like a silver crescent pendant from venus, slamming in the summer sky, I heard the lazy waves breaking like slumbers thunder upon the long low beach and said the sea is calling me and I went. Far out upon the long pier where the waves could dash their spray like a shower of cool pearls in my face. I lingered a long and listened to a sad story and strange with a sweet voice like a woman telling in a foreign tongue and punctuating with tears. Upon the beach, some of lower animals walked in slowly and that seemed to be like a old man movement. How brief and strain is the little lives of men and so best with customs reigned to cramp the heart and curse the soul before it. To me here. Since the time began to build that bridge of size and tears that link the two eternities, it seems but yesternight that I hand in hand they wandered here. So wrapped in happiness born of equal love that they hated not at my glories spread forth to tempt their place. I curled my snowy spray about their feet, flashed back the silver beams of harvest moon in one long shimmering sheet of mellow light rolled waves of brilliant plus for residents that seemed like silver billows diamond studded breaking on a beach of gold and saying the sweetest odds of the poets of 10000 years. But they heard nor saw out but the beating of their hearts in holy Rhythm and the love light flaming like virus celestial in each other's eyes.

Their limbed, shamed yet happy, they sat the waves and I cradled them on my bosom and heard them whisper of laws, defied and cruel custom set at knot and the higher law of love. But fearful, she spoke inside yet clung the closer to him as though the earth and sea contained but one perfect model of a man and that were he. Hour by hour they hovered near me and a thousand times she swore to him that their lives were so entwined that separation were deaf to her and kissed his lips. His eyes, his hands, and which she were his wife that they might blaze into the great round world. The love they fain would hide from heaven. 1 little year went by and they came again, not walking hand in hand. He spoke to her and she answered with bitter scorn. He touched with trembling lips upon the old days when love was lord of their two lives, but she mocked at love and him and bade him leave her. Then he that was one to rule first learned to sue and vainly for her heart was cold as the ashes of long forgotten kings, cruel as winter winds blown across icy northern seas. It is a guilty love, she said. And he looked at her as if doubting that he heard. Then turned and went like one that dreamed for thought of wrong to her had dwelt not with him. He had but worshipped her as devout sabian, might the sun and host of heaven. Again he came. But he was all alone, long and lonely. He paced the dreary beach beneath the wintry sky until the cold mists seemed changed to mellow light the stormy sky to one of summer jammed by a myriad stars and queens by harvest moon. The cool wind sleeping or the barren waste to music and the merry laughter of men and maids and she was by his side her lovely eyes making the blood dance through every vein he put forth his hands to her. But this guy changed from gold to lead the drift weed blew about his feet. The cold mists settled down upon him and crept with icy fingers into his heart and he cursed the lying vision, the shrieking wind, the cold mist in the lead in sky cursed the day that he first saw. And said to waves that tumbled at his feet, I must be mad the curse of my race had fallen upon me else. Why do I see that which is not here are voices that are far away. Why do I cherish the image of a fickle woman who swept along by a gust of passion or sickly sentiment thought for a day she loved me but did not nor ever loved art in life, but her own selfish cell. And he called her name to the wind and waves, but coupled with it a curse, deep and bitter as those that burst himself a breath from the parched lips of the damned and voice came back from out the gloom that seemed to mock him. Furious as a demon disturbed at some Hellas, right, he turned and shrieked to the marking voice and bade it come to him that he might reap upon its owner such vengeance as would appall the world. The far lights shone like pale ghosts of lights through the driving mist and in them loomed two weird forms that seemed an hundred cubits high.

Furiously, he rushed upon and smote them down upon the wet sand and trampled them and strode with feet and hands to kill. But they cried out for mercy on their lives that they were honest fishermen who hearing a cry but faintly above the roaring waves had answered it thinking some boatmen might have met it. The flood of anger spent in blows he helped him up. Wiped the blood and sand from their bronze bases, gave them his scant purse and bidding them drink a bumper that health fins might drag him from the world before the morn sent them on their way he. The gray dawn found him sleeping with his face upon the web sand once trodden by the feet that now trampled on his heart. Then I sent waves cool and sweet to kiss his cheek and he awoke and waking said. Kisses for me. They are cold. Great mother ocean, but not so cold as love burned out leaving but the bitter ashes of contemptuous pity. I dreamed that I was afloat upon thy bosom with her. I did so dearly love and thou wish bearing a spinach a sunset sky to a fair island fringed with palms and musical with sounds of birds and rippling springs where we too should live forever that as we floated thus love's goddess descended from a golden cloud and opening the white bosom of my bride yet not my bride took thence her heart and pressed from it a black drop that fell upon the molten sea and taking form became a hideous monster. That cried my name is selfishnesses. And vanished in the way. Then breathing upon the cold heart, a serial flame that made it Throb like a hero's pulse when trumpets are blown for war. She replaced it. Healed the snowy globe with a touch and smiling upon me was caught into the golden cloud that seemed framed of music and the perfume of 1000 flowers.

Around arm stole about my neck and we floated heart to heart on to the haven. That was to be our heaven. Occurs upon your brandy waters that seem a world of bitter tears rank with dead men's bones in the rotting halls of ships. They have called me back to thy dreary, ever moaning verge to mock myself for loving one who scorns for wasting my hot hut on a block of frozen stone, hoping by foolish prayers and unmanly tears to move the gods to breathe into it the breath of human life to prevail even as did that old human who became enamored of a statue less divinely formed but with the self same heart. Tis madness leads me to this valley. The old old curse that had hung about our house like a beautiful shadow for thrice 100 years bursting at times into bloody fuse without apparent cause and dreadful mutinies against the laws of man and will of god tis vain to further fight with faith to have dragged me down even as it did my great grandfather who climbed famed dizzy heights and stood poised in mid heaven the master mind of Britain's mighty world then. Like a tall mountain pine blasted at the top by the ridden boats of god. Plunged a falling star to the depths of everlasting darkness and died a decade before his death. Nor iron wheel descended through my sire from a score of barbarous gangs nor mother's prayer for amulets woven my golden threads through every low sweet lullaby that sues my infancy can avail me. I cannot fight and fall. She might have helped me beat back the shadows, but wouldn't. And as well. Then taking from a case the withered rose, he kissed it cast a far out upon the wave, watched it dance there and said with a bitter smile. The last length advised me to other days and it is broken. The wage of sin is death and I am dead these long months passed and farthoms deep inhale yet walk the earth because norsea will yield a resting place among its honour dead to one so ignobly slay.