“ho, there! Fisherman, hold your hand!
  Tell me, what is that far away,—
There, where over the isle of sand
  Hangs the mist-cloud sullen and gray?
See! it rocks with a ghastly life,
  Rising and rolling through clouds of spray,
Right in the midst of the breakers’ strife,—
  Tell me what is it, Fisherman, pray?”

“That, good sir...