While the babe to manhood grew
As the hours swiftly flew.
Morning dawned, the queen still waited
But her son the billows hailed:
"O, you wanton waves so blue –
Free to come and go are you,
Dashing when and where you please,
Wearing rocks away with ease –
You, who flood the mountains high,
You, who ships raise to the sky–
Hear my prayer, o waves, and spare us–
Safely onto dry land bear us."
So the waves, without ado,
Bore the cask and prisoners two
Gently to a sandy shore,
Then, receding, splashed no more.
Son and mother, safe and sound,
Feel that they're on solid ground.
From their cask, though, who will take them?
Surely God will not forsake them?
Murmuring: "I wonder how We could break our prison now?" Up the son stood on his toes,
Stretched himself, and said:
"Here goes!"–
Thrust his head against the lid,
Burst it out–and forth he slid.
Son and mother, free again,
Saw a hillock on a plain;
On its crest, an oak tree grew; Round them flowed the ocean blue.
Quoth the son: "Some food and drink Wouldn't come amiss, I think."
From the oak, a branch he rent
And a sturdy bow he bent.
With the silken cord that hung
Round his neck, the bow he strung.
From a slender reed and light,
Shaped an arrow, true in flight.
Then explored the isle for game,
Till he to the sea-shore came.
Just as he approached the beach,
Our young hunter heard a screech..;
Of distress at sea it told.
He looked round him, and, behold,
Saw a swan in evil plight;
Circling over it–a kite,
Talons spread, and bloodstained beak Poised, prepared her death to wreak, While the helpless bird was splashing, With her wings the waters lashing.
But his shaft, with baneful note,
Struck the kite full in the throat.
Bleeding, in the sea it fell,
Screeching like a soul in hell.
He, with lowered bow, looked on
As, with beak and wings, the swan,