The lamps within the light-house Were kindled, light by light, And in the farthest distance A ship was still in sight. We spoke of storm and shipwreck, And of the sailor’s strange life, ’Twixt sky and water, ’twixt terror And joy in endless strife. We spoke of distant regions, Of North and South spoke we, The many strange races yonder, And customs, strange to see. The air on the Ganges is balmy, And giant-trees extend, And fair and silent mortals Before the lotos bend. In Lapland, the people are dirty, Flat-headed, broad-mouthèd, and small; They squat round the fire, bake fishes, And squeak, and speak shrilly, and squall. The maidens earnestly listen’d, At length not a word was said; The ship from sight had vanish’d, For darkness o’er all things was spread. 8. Thou pretty fisher-maiden, Quick, push thy bark to land; Come hither, and sit beside me, And toy with me, hand in hand. Recline thy head on my bosom, Nor be so fearful of me; Thou trustest thyself, void of terror, Each day to the raging sea. My heart is like the ocean, Hath tempest, ebb, and flow, And many pearls full precious Lie in its depths below. 9. The moon hath softly risen, And o’er the waves doth smile; Mine arms hold my sweetheart in prison, Our hearts both swelling the while. Blest in her sweet embraces I calmly repose on the strand: Hear’st thou aught in the wind as it races? Why shrinks thy snow-white hand? “O, ’tis not the tempest’s commotion, “’Tis the song of the mermaids below; “’Tis the voice of my sisters, whom Ocean “Swallow’d up in its depths long ago.” 10. On the clouds doth rest the moon, Like a giant-orange gleaming; Broad her streaks, with golden rays O’er the dusky ocean beaming. Lonely roam I by the strand While the billows white are breaking; Many sweet words hear I there, From the water’s depths awaking. Ah! the night is long, full long, And my heart must break its slumbers; Beauteous nymphs, come forth to light, Dance! and sing your magic numbers! To your bosom take my head, Soul and body I surrender! Sing me dead, caress me dead, Drain my life with kisses tender. 11. In their grey-hued clouds envelop’d, Now the mighty gods are sleeping; And I listen to their snoring, Stormy weather o’er us creeping. Stormy weather! Raging tempests On the poor ship bring disaster; On these winds who’ll place a bridle,-- On these waves that own no master? I the storm can never hinder, Nor the mast and planks from creaking, So I wrap me in my mantle, Like the gods for slumber seeking. 12.