PISCATOR. A taste of power to those who are unaccustomed to it is always dangerous, and I blame myself for permitting you to usurp the post of pilot. Though, as you seem determined to maintain it, I cannot choose but to sit down here quietly, and trust our lives to your skill. My life indeed! But yours? Seriously now, my fair young lady, would it not be wiser---- DISCIPULA. Seriously now, my careful master, I don't think it would. Why, what would you have? Are we not skimming over the waves like a sea-bird free? And see those two birds, how they dash by us, and wheel round over us, and breast the gale! Oh master! wouldn't you like to be a sea-bird, and swing sideways, with your face to the wind that almost took your breath away, swing down, down, glance against the water, then on the other side, swing up, up? And wouldn't it be sweet too to struggle your way up through the storm, high over that cloud yonder, with the thunder on its inside and the lightning on its out--then fold your wings, close your eyes, and fall calmly down on to its dark, soft, bosom? Oh, wouldn't it be sweet? PISCATOR. My dear scholar, our landing place lies here, toward the north-east, and you are running directly north. DISCIPULA. Don't be under any apprehensions; I am only going to run out half a mile farther, that we may get before the wind, and then we'll scud straight toward home. And beside, we rock more, going in this direction. I wish it would blow harder, and make more swell! You know now, Mr. Piscator, how a wild swan feels when he sits on the water and is buoyed up on the heaving wave, and in a breath sinks into the black abyss. If I were a wild swan I would go to sleep and let the winds blow and the waters heave! How the boat careens over and plunges down when the blast whistles against the masts! Drive on! Drive on! my light gallant bark! Oh, my master! shall I sing you a song? a little song of the sea? a pirate song? PISCATOR. You look at this present moment as if you might sing a pirate song, or be a pirate yourself. I observe that since you have taken off your bonnet, the wind has somewhat disarranged your hair. DISCIPULA. Wouldn't you like to be a pirate, though? I would; and roam over the ocean at my own free will; and through the storm and spray, and lightning-glances of the wild midnight, dash on my fleeing victim like the eagle on his prey! All hands on deck to get on more sail! Stand by to unfurl the main-sail to the tempest! PISCATOR. Will it please you, my fair pilot, to inform me whither you are taking us? DISCIPULA. I am going to run into that cloud yonder; the one before us, with the thunder on its inside and the lightning on its out. PISCATOR. What you call a cloud appears to me to be a hill, that rises a few rods back from the shore. DISCIPULA. Oh, it's a cloud--a cloud! And there is a star that glimmers through it. PISCATOR. I see nothing but the twinkling of a taper, from the window of some dwelling.