Yet soon the sun was high in heaven, And the sea was a-glow: and then The temper of those men peered out-- Of those three fearless men. One thought his white hand by the sun would be tanned; One felt they were wrong to risk it, In sweltering heat, with nothing to eat But a bit of dry ship-biscuit. The third brooded over his handful of freight Going down, uninsured, to the deep: But the woman alone would gently moan, And at times, perforce, would weep; Till a sense of shame the three o'ercame, And a curious wish to know Why, still unfearing, she gave way To her uncomplaining woe. "Ah, Sirs!"--she faltered in reply-- "The danger is easily braved: But my husband may hear that the ship is burnt-- And not that we are saved!" ANOTHER MARBLE FAUN. _A Translation of La Statue, by Victor Hugo._ He seemed to shiver, for the wind was keen. 'Twas a poor statue underneath a mass Of leafless branches, with a blackened back And green foot--an old isolated Faun In old deserted park, who, bending forward, Half merged himself in the entangled boughs, Half in his marble settings. He was there, Pensive, and bound to the earth; and, as all things, Devoid of movement, he was there--forgotten. Trees were around him, whipped by the icy blasts-- Gigantic chestnuts, without leaf or bird, And, like himself, grown old in that same place. Through the dark network of their undergrowth, Pallid his aspect; and the earth was brown. Starless and moonless, a rough winter's night Was letting down her lappets o'er the mist. Trees more remote, with sombre shafts upreared, Each other crossed; and trees remoter still, By distance blurred, threw up to the grey sky Their thousand twigs sharp-pointed, intricate; And posed themselves around; and through the fog Took, on the horizon's verge, the shadowy form Of mighty porcupines in countless herd. This--nothing more: old Faun, dull sky, dark wood. Piercing the mist, perchance there might be seen A distant terrace--its long layers of stone Tinted with slimy green; or group of Nymphs, Dimly defined beside a wide-spread basin, And shrinking--fitly in this desolate park-- As once from gazers, from neglect to-day. The old Faun was laughing. In their dubious haze Leaving the shamed Nymphs and their dreary basin-- The old Faun was laughing--'twas to him I came Moved to compassion, for these sculptors all Are pitiless ever, and, content with praise, Doom Nymphs to shame, condemn the Fauns to laughter.