Instantly the air grows gloomy, gray, and the ocean rocks
menacingly, while the great bells grow harsh and strident, as they hint
of a dark fate. I clasp my hands appealingly to the heavens; I moan and
struggle with the unknown grasp; then there is peace and the sweet
content of the infinite Nirvana.
Then slowly, softly, the net of auburn hair begins to drag me down below
the surface of the sea. Oh! the skies are so sweet, and now that the
tender stars are looking upon us, how fair to stay and sway upon the
breast of eternity! But the net is inexorable, and gently, slowly pulls
me down. Now we sink straight, now we whirl in slow, eddying circles,
spiral-like; while at each turn those bells ring out clanging now in
wild crescendo, then whispering dread secrets of the ocean's depths. Oh,
ye mighty bells, tell me from your learned lore of the hopes of mankind!
Tell me what fruit he beareth from his strivings and yearnings; know not
ye? Why ring ye now so joyful, so hopeful; then toll your dismal
prophecies of o'er-cast skies?
Years have passed, and now centuries, too, are swallowed in the gulf of
eternity, yet the auburn net still whirls me in eddying circles, down,
down to the very womb of time; to the innermost recesses of the mighty
ocean.
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