50
The opaline depths of the sea keep silence; the melancholy waves strike against the sandy beach: so I also keep silence, looking at Bahim, who has just finished his exquisite song. Still more silver spots are seen on the sea, by the light of the moon. The water in the kettle begins to boil. One of the waves in a frolic creeps along the shore, and, roaring menacingly approaches the head of Bahim.
“Where art thou going? Begone!” says Bahim, waving his hand, and the wave humbly flows back to the sea.
This uncommon action does not make me laugh, for all around seems to be so extraordinarily alive—soft, and mild.
The sea is so extremely calm, and one can feel that in its freshening breeze towards the mountains, which are not yet cool from the daily heat, is hidden a great store of powerful elemental force.
