The Son of Sorrow.
A Fable From the Swedish.
All lonely, excluded from Heaven,
Sat Sorrow one day on the strand ;
And, mournfully buried in thought,
Form’d a figure of clay with her hand.
Jove appeared. “ What is this ?” he demands ;
She replied. “ ’Tis a figure of clay.
Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand ;
Give it life, mighty Father, I pray !”
“ Let him live !” said the God. “ But observe,
As I lend him, he mine must remain,”
“ Not so,” Sorrow said, and implor’d,
“Oh ! let me my offspring retain !
“ ’Tis to me his creation he owes.”
“ Yes,” said Jove, “but’twas I gave him breath.”
As he spoke, Earth appears on the scene,
And, observing the image, thus saith :
“ From me—from my bosom he’s torn,
I demand, then, what’s taken from me.
“ This strife shall be settled,” said Jove ;
“ Let Saturn decide ’tween the three.”
This sentence the Judge gave. “ To all
He belongs, so let no one complain ;
The life, Jove, Thou gav’st him shalt Thou
With his soul, when he dies, take again.
“ Thou, Earth, shalt receive back his frame,
At peace in thy lap he’ll recline ;
But during his whole troubled life,
He shall surely, O Sorrow, be thine !
“ His features thy look shall reflect ;
Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath ;
And he ne’er shall be parted from thee
Until he reposes in death !”
Moral.
The sentence of Heaven, then is this :
And hence Man lies under the sod ;
Though Sorrow possesses him, living
He returns both to Earth and to God.