VII.
We sat in the fisher's cabin,
Looking out upon the sea.
Then came the mists of evening,
Ascending silently.
The lights began in the lighthouse
One after one to burn,
And on the far horizon
A ship we could still discern.
We spake of storm and shipwreck,
The sailor and how he thrives,
And how betwixt heaven and ocean,
And joy and sorrow he strives.
We spake of distant countries,
South, North, and everywhere,
And of the curious people,
And curious customs there;
The fragrance and light of the Ganges,
That giant-trees embower,
Where a beautiful tranquil people
Kneel to the lotus flower;
Of the unclean folk in Lapland,
Broad-mouthed and flat-headed and small,
Who cower upon the hearthstone,
Bake fish, and cackle and squall.
The maidens listened gravely,
Then never a word was said,
The ship we could see no longer;
It was far too dark o'erhead.