Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Paths of Life
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over a stone or a piece of timber and then up again,
to fall again and again and again—foaming, hissing,
roaring.
Now these wild, excited waves, maddened with
the spring air, crazed with their new found liberty,
were rushing to storm the old breakwater! Hissing
and tearing at it, they hurled themselves high against
it and then fell back as if they had hurt their white
crests. They made a splendid storming party. They
used huge pieces of ice as shields, they built the
floating beams into a battering-ram, they bent, broke,
and beat against the poor breakwater till suddenly
it seemed as if some one shouted to them, “Take
care, take care!” Then they all rushed backwards,
and after them came a big stone, loosened from the
dam, and fell with a thundering splash into the
stream. This seemed to surprise them, they paused,
they rejoiced, they held a consultation, then on
again. They were at it again with icy shields and
thick battering-rams, mischievous, cruel, and wild,
mad with the lust of destruction. “If only the
breakwater were away,” cried the waves, “if only the
breakwater gives way, it will then be the turn of the
forge and the mill. To-day is the day of freedom—away
with men and their work! They have soiled us
with coal, they have dusted us with flour, they throw
the yoke of labor upon us as upon oxen, they
have driven us round the water-wheel and dammed
us up, cramped us in the mill wickets, compelled
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