THE FISHERMAN.

In the dark waveless sea,

Deep blue under deep blue,

The fisher drifts by on the tide

In his small pole-balanced canoe.

Above him the cloud-clapped hills

Crown the dense jungly sweeps;

The cocoa-nut groves hedge round

The hut where the beach-wave sleeps.

Is it not better so

To be as this savage is,

Than to live the wage-slave's life

Of hopeless agonies?