“It was afternoon … almost evening; the corals were laid aside. The land passed slowly by, and grew fainter and fainter behind us. To the left, far in the west, above the wide, wide ocean, which has no limit as far as Madagascar—the sun set over Africa, and his beams fell—more and more obliquely on the waves, and sought for coolness in the sea. What the dickens is it?”
“What? the sun?”
“No, no.… I used to make verses.…
“Thou askest why the ocean stream,
That washes Natal’s shore,
Elsewhere so gentle and serene,
Is known to boil and roar.
“Thou askest the poor fisher’s son,
Who scarce can understand; [[193]]
And he points out th’ horizon dun,