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The Sunken Bell 113
Digs up our metals, sweats, and smelts, and brews.
The earth-man and the water-sprite he takes
To drag his burdens, and, to harness, breaks.
She steals my cherished flowers, my red-brown ores,
My gold, my precious stones, my resinous stores.
She serves him like a slave, by night and day.
Tis he she kisses us she keeps at bay.
Naught stands against him. Ancient trees he fells.
The earth quakes at his tread, and all the dells
Ring with the echo of his thunderous blows.
His crimson smithy furnace glows and shines
Into the depths of my most secret mines.
What he is up to, only Satan knows!
The Nickelmann.
Brekekekex! Hadst thou the creature slain,
A-rotting in the mere long since he had lain
The maker of the bell, beside the bell.
And so when next I had wished to throw the stones,
The bell had been my box the dice, his bones !
But even they are powerless to stem the tide of
the Ideal: they are helpless in the face of Hein-
rich s new-born faith, of his burning passion to
complete his task, and give voice to the thousand-
throated golden peal.
Helnrich works and toils, and when doubt casts
its black shadow athwart his path, Rautendelein
charms back hope. She alone has boundless faith
in her Balder, god of the joy of Life for he
is part of her, of the great glowing force her spirit
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