We sat by the fisherman's cottage,
And we looked out over the fiord;
The evening mists spread round us,
And upwards and upwards soared.
All at once the lights in the lighthouse
Were lit up, and flashed out wide,
And far away in the offing
A ship might still be descried.
We talked of tempest and shipwreck;
Of the sailor, and how he fares —
How he vibrates 'twixt wind and water,
'Twixt pleasure and toilsome cares.
We talked of far-away regions,
Both in north and in south that were;
Of all the singular peoples,
And singular customs there.
There are giant woods on the Ganges,
And sunshine and fragrant bowers,
And stately, serene men kneel there
Before the lotus flowers.
In Lapland, the natives are filthy,
Flat headed, broad-mouthed, and small;
They cower round their fires, and bake there
Their fish, and jobber and squall.
The girls they listened intently,
And at last no one spoke any more;
The ship could be sighted no longer,
The night had sunk down on the shore.
