There were seven Ushers, with nets in their hands, And they walked and talked by the seaside sands; Yet, sweet as the sweet dew-fall, The words they spake, though they spake so low, Across the long dim centuries flow, And we know them, one and all,— Ay! we know and love them all. The livelong night, till the moon went out In the drowning waters, they beat about,— Beat slow, through the fog, their way; And the sails drooped down with wringing wet, And no man drew but an empty net; And now 't was the break of the day,— The great, glad break of the day.
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