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. VIII. Thou fairest fisher maiden, Row thy boat to the land. Come here and sit beside me, Whispering, hand in hand. Lay thy head on my bosom, And have no fear of me; For carelessly thou trustest Daily the savage sea. My heart is like the ocean, With storm and ebb and flow, And many a pearl lies hidden Within its depths below. IX. The moon is up, and brightly Beams o'er the waters vast. I clasp my darling tightly; Our hearts are beating fast. In the dear child's bosom, nestling, Alone I lie on the sand. "Hear'st thou the wild winds rustling? Why trembles thy foam-white hand?" "That is no wild wind sighing, That is the mermaid's lay; And they are my sisters crying, Whom the sea swallowed one day." X. Up amidst the clouds, the moon, Like a giant orange, beams, O'er the gray sea shining down, With broad stripes and golden gleams. And I pace the shore alone, Where the billows white are broken. Many a tender word I hear, Words within the water spoken. Ah, the night is far too long, And my heart throbs fast for pleasure. Beautiful undines, come forth! Sing and dance your magic measure. Take my body and my soul: On your lap my head shall rest. Sing to death, caress to death; Kiss the life from out my breast. XI. All in gray clouds closely muffled, Now the high gods sleep together, And I listen to their snoring. Here below 'tis stormy weather. Stormy weather, raging tempest Soon the helpless vessel shatters. Who these furious winds can bridle? Who can curb the lordless waters? I can ne'er control the tempest, Over deck and masthead sweeping; I will wrap me in my mantle, And will sleep as gods are sleeping. XII. The night wind draws his trousers on,-- His foam-white hose once more; He wildly whips the waves anon, They howl, and rage, and roar. From yon dark height, with frantic might, The rain pours ceaselessly. It seems as if the ancient night Would drown the ancient sea. Anigh the mast the sea-mew screams, With hoarse shrieks, flying low. Its every cry an omen seems, A prophecy of woe. XIII. The storm for a dance is piping, With bellow and roar and hiss. Hurrah! how the ship is tossing, What a merry wild night is this! A living mountain of water The sea upheaves with might. Here an abyss is yawning; There towers a foaming height.