The Asp-Turtle
15
The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle,
And, free from thought of peril, there abide.
And, free from thought of peril, there abide.
Elated, on the sands they build a fire,
A mounting blaze. There, light of heart, they sit—
No more discouraged—eager for sweet rest.
Then when the crafty fiend perceives that men,
Encamped upon him, making their abode,
Enjoy the gentle weather, suddenly
Under the salty waves he plunges down,
Straight to the bottom deep he drags his prey;
He, guest of ocean, in his watery haunts
Drowns ships and men, and fast imprisons them
Within the halls of death.
A mounting blaze. There, light of heart, they sit—
No more discouraged—eager for sweet rest.
Then when the crafty fiend perceives that men,
Encamped upon him, making their abode,
Enjoy the gentle weather, suddenly
Under the salty waves he plunges down,
Straight to the bottom deep he drags his prey;
He, guest of ocean, in his watery haunts
Drowns ships and men, and fast imprisons them
Within the halls of death.
Such is the way
Of demons, devils' wiles: to hide their power,
And stealthily inveigle heedless men,
Inciting them against all worthy deeds,
And luring them to seek for help and comfort
Of demons, devils' wiles: to hide their power,
And stealthily inveigle heedless men,
Inciting them against all worthy deeds,
And luring them to seek for help and comfort
