pass that both the sea and the air loved the mountain, but the mountain
loved the sea.

"Dance on forever, O air," said the mountain; "dance on and sing your
merry songs. But I love the gentle sea, who in sweet humility crouches at
my feet or playfully dashes her white spray against my brown bosom."

Now the sea was full of joy when she heard these words, and her thousand
voices sang softly with delight. But the air was filled with rage and
jealousy, and she swore a terrible revenge.

"The mountain shall not wed the sea," muttered the envious air. "Enjoy
your triumph while you may, O slumberous sister; I will steal you from
your haughty lover!"

And it came to pass that ever after that the air each day caught up huge
parts of the sea and sent them floating forever through the air in the
shape of clouds. So each day the sea receded from the feet of the
mountain, and her tuneful waves played no more around his majestic base.

"Whither art thou going, my love?" cried the mountain in dismay.

"She is false to thee," laughed the air, mockingly. "She is going to
another love far away."

But the mountain would not believe it. He towered his head aloft and cried
more beseechingly than before: "Oh, whither art thou going, my beloved? I
do not hear thy sweet voice, nor do thy soft white arms compass me about."

Then the sea cried out in an agony of helpless love. But the mountain