Page:Works of Heinrich Heine 01.djvu/142

126 sail of his desires—ho-i-ho! But soon a storm rises, the horizon grows dark, the wind's bride howls, the planks crack, the waves break the rudder, and the poor ship is wrecked on romantic rocks, or stranded on damp, prosaic sandbanks; or perhaps, brittle and broken, with its masts gone, and without an anchor of hope, it returns to its old harbour, and there moulders away, wretchedly unrigged, as a miserable wreck.