LIFE NIGHTMARES

PROLOGUE

There have been mortals favorites of the guides as to whom it was given to understand the language of the lower animals and such I have ever envied for example beast and bird. I never seen or heard that there is a human who know these languages. I can go beyond and get to know the imperfect knowledge of their alphabet. This will enable me to spell out here and there a word of little meaning, but the great oceans ceasing speech is ever plain to me and many more people. When I passed through cool sands that go to my island home and listened with a lot of attention, I come to know some secrets. Sudden breeze that kissed its bosom. Strange stories of wreck and race, wild wars and desperate deeds mingled with those of love and honor, shame and sacrifice crowding upon each other like spectors in a dream. One night, when the new moon hung like a silver crescent pendant from venus, slamming in the summer sky, I heard the lazy waves breaking like slumbers thunder upon the long low beach and said the sea is calling me and I went. Far out upon the long pier where the waves could dash their spray like a shower of cool pearls in my face. I lingered a long and listened to a sad story and strange with a sweet voice like a woman telling in a foreign tongue and punctuating with tears. Upon the beach, some of lower animals walked in slowly and that seemed to be like a old man movement. How brief and strain is the little lives of men and so best with customs reigned to cramp the heart and curse the soul before it. To me here. Since the time began to build that bridge of size and tears that link the two eternities, it seems but yesternight that I hand in hand they wandered here. So wrapped in happiness born of equal love that they hated not at my glories spread forth to tempt their place. I curled my snowy spray about their feet, flashed back the silver beams of harvest moon in one long shimmering sheet of mellow light rolled waves of brilliant plus for residents that seemed like silver billows diamond studded breaking on a beach of gold and saying the sweetest odds of the poets of 10000 years. But they heard nor saw out but the beating of their hearts in holy Rhythm and the love light flaming like virus celestial in each other's eyes.

Their limbed, shamed yet happy, they sat the waves and I cradled them on my bosom and heard them whisper of laws, defied and cruel custom set at knot and the higher law of love. But fearful, she spoke inside yet clung the closer to him as though the earth and sea contained but one perfect model of a man and that were he. Hour by hour they hovered near me and a thousand times she swore to him that their lives were so entwined that separation were deaf to her and kissed his lips. His eyes, his hands, and which she were his wife that they might blaze into the great round world. The love they fain would hide from heaven. 1 little year went by and they came again, not walking hand in hand. He spoke to her and she answered with bitter scorn. He touched with trembling lips upon the old days when love was lord of their two lives, but she mocked at love and him and bade him leave her. Then he that was one to rule first learned to sue and vainly for her heart was cold as the ashes of long forgotten kings, cruel as winter winds blown across icy northern seas. It is a guilty love, she said. And he looked at her as if doubting that he heard. Then turned and went like one that dreamed for thought of wrong to her had dwelt not with him. He had but worshipped her as devout sabian, might the sun and host of heaven. Again he came. But he was all alone, long and lonely. He paced the dreary beach beneath the wintry sky until the cold mists seemed changed to mellow light the stormy sky to one of summer jammed by a myriad stars and queens by harvest moon. The cool wind sleeping or the barren waste to music and the merry laughter of men and maids and she was by his side her lovely eyes making the blood dance through every vein he put forth his hands to her. But this guy changed from gold to lead the drift weed blew about his feet. The cold mists settled down upon him and crept with icy fingers into his heart and he cursed the lying vision, the shrieking wind, the cold mist in the lead in sky cursed the day that he first saw. And said to waves that tumbled at his feet, I must be mad the curse of my race had fallen upon me else. Why do I see that which is not here are voices that are far away. Why do I cherish the image of a fickle woman who swept along by a gust of passion or sickly sentiment thought for a day she loved me but did not nor ever loved art in life, but her own selfish cell. And he called her name to the wind and waves, but coupled with it a curse, deep and bitter as those that burst himself a breath from the parched lips of the damned and voice came back from out the gloom that seemed to mock him. Furious as a demon disturbed at some Hellas, right, he turned and shrieked to the marking voice and bade it come to him that he might reap upon its owner such vengeance as would appall the world. The far lights shone like pale ghosts of lights through the driving mist and in them loomed two weird forms that seemed an hundred cubits high.