Does any one know who set it there, so high?
Some sailor-fisherman
Who lived in a little hut beside the rock.
The hut is gone, there are the bricks of its foundation,
The old, gray figurehead is left.
A carving crude yet noble,
Of silvery, weathered wood:
A hero-woman,
Large, simple, bold and calm.
One hand is on her breast, her throat curves proudly,