Canto XVII

Just as the sunset of the eve before
Had indicated it, next morn' a roar
Was heard, it was the storm swept ocean's waves
Whipped by the tempest which with fury raves.

As usual when such awful storms prevail.
Great is the fright of those then under sail,
In vain their efforts are their ship to save.
No help! their fate 't seems is a watery grave.

Black, heavy clouds roll o'er the darkened sky,
A thunderstorm breaks forth and from the high
Shoot fiery sparks: the lightnings awful flash
One hits the boat, which breaks up with a crash.

Dead corpses and the debris of the boat
Upon the ocean's waves are seen to float.
But what has been the fate of John? Did he
Too, find his grave within the angry sea?

He also was to his death mighty nigh.
To save him, help came to him from the sky,
And rescued him in a most wondrous way.
So that he did not drown that awful day.
A rising wave had caught him and it bore
Him high and nigh to where the thick clouds soar,
There, with a jump he on one of them lands
And holds on to that cloud with both his hands.

And he held on and did not let it go.
He saw it drift towards the shore, and so
He watched, when near to land, then in a whiff,
He jumped upon the summit of a cliff.
He firstly prayed to God, his thanks he gave
For letting him escape a watery grave.
That he bis treasure lost he did not care,
His life was spared, the gold with ease he'll spare.
And then upon that cliff he looked around,
Naught else except a griffith bird-nest found.
The bird just then its brood fed, he saw plain,
And lightning like a thought flashed through his

brain.

Most cautiously and unseen, and not heard,
He drew near and then jumped upon the bird.
He boldly drove his spurs into her sides,
As swiftly through the air he on her rides.

The bird tried hard and tried with might and main
To throw him. down and thus her freedom gain.
But John sat there as if held by some screw,
His hands holding her neck, and on they flew!

And on they flew! God know,s o'er what strange

lands.
One day, just as the sun his first rays sends
To earth, he saw just what was his desire:
It illumined his own hamlet's church spire.

J
God's bliss was his when he that church espied.
To stop his tears of joy he vainly tried.
Just then the bird, to John's greatest delight
Descended for a rest from her .great flight.
Upon a hill-top he got off from her,

The bird could hardly breathe, could hardly stir.
He left her there in her exhausted state,
And to his home, lost in deep thought, went straight.

"I bring no wealth and poor as I did start
I bring to thee my faithful, , loyal heart;
But this suffices, sweet Helen, I trow
Thou'lt welcome me lovingly anyhow."

With thoughts like these he comes to his home near
Loud cries and wagon rattling strikes his ear,
The clang and bang and noise is general:
The people hold their vintage-festival.

He looked not at who to the vineyards went.
He passed to all of them indifferent.
And through the village he just walked to where
He knew had lived Helen, his sweetheart fair.

Upon the porch, he felt his hands to shake,
He hardly dared a decent breath to take.
He plucks up courage, entering, he sees
All strangers where he thought his Helen is.

John told her who he is. She breaks in though:
The while his hand again the latch-string sought.
A buxom woman, with kind sympathy
Asks him: "Good man. whom do you wish to see?"

John told her who he is. She breaks in though!
'"O. bless my heart! the sun had tanned you so
"I did not know you first. Come in! Come in!
"I am surprised! Let's talk! But where begin?"

"Come in! God bless you John! You've changed

indeed"
— Into the sitting room she does him lead,
And when he in her cosy armchair sat,
She said: "Now, let us have a friendly chat."
"Have you forgotten me? O, what a shame!
I am the neighbor's little girl who came

To see Helen so oft; do you know how"

"The first thing tell me, where is Helen now"

John breaks into her speech. The woman's eyes
Are clouded -by the tears which in them rise,
"Where is Helen? Oh, Dear!" — she slowly said:
"Poor Uncle John, our sweet Helen is dead."

'T was well he did not stand but sat secure,
The dreadful newts it would have felled him sure.
He would not do else but grasp at his heart,
As if to crush the pain which made it smart.

He sat awhile mute, stunned, lifeless it seemed
And then he said, — he spoke as one who dreamed:
"Tell me the truth, she is to some one wed.
Let her be whoso's wife, but oh! not dead!"

"I could at least once more see her! If so,
Less painful then to bear my awful woe.
The tears a-flowing from the woman's eyes
Howe'er could not the dreadful truth disguise.