HE ship was bursting with a mighty crash.
Ablaze were bow and deck and every mast.
The old boat pitching rose to port: a splash—
A surging of gray waves—the gale's shrill blast—
Thundering orders—prayers—then cry on cry—
A blow, a headlong fall—God stand me by!—
Down, down. Black night upon all senses fell.
Mate, fill my glass! This yarn is long to tell.
'T was in the deep I saw—I saw that sight.
They have no day down there, they have no night.
The sand is shimmering green. There planks lie scattered,
A giant mast in livid splinters shattered.
And up from pallid vines rise bubbles whirling—
From vines that evermore are swaying, curling,
Their long and wary tendril-arms unfurling.
And glistening shells among the wreckage lie
That snap without a sound when prey floats by,
And there are fish with lustre livid pale
That beat their tails transparent as a veil.
A restless host is wandering on down there,
A thousand thousand, an unnumbered band:
Their hands are stiff, their eyes unseeing stare,
With leaden feet they wade across the sand,
- ↑ Translator: Margarete Münsterberg.
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