beast or of rock: or from enemy lurking on land or pursuing on sea:
wherever the tiller is cold or the helmsman stiff: wherever sailors
sleep or helmsman watch: guard, guide, and return us to the old
land, that has known us: to the far homes that we know.

To all the gods that are.

To whatever god may hear.

So he prayed, and there was silence. And the sailors laid them down to
rest for the night. The silence deepened, and was only broken by the
ripples of Yann that lightly touched our prow. Sometimes some monster
of the river coughed.

Silence and ripples, ripples and silence again.

And then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he began to sing.
And he sang the market songs of Durl and Duz, and the old
dragon-legends of Belzoond.

Many a song he sang, telling to spacious and exotic Yann the little
tales and trifles of his city of Durl. And the songs welled up over
the black jungle and came into the clear cold air above, and the great
bands of stars that looked on Yann began to know the affairs of Durl
and Duz, and of the shepherds that dwelt in the fields between, and
the flocks that they had, and the loves that they had loved, and all
the little things that they hoped to do. And as I lay wrapped up in
skins and blankets listening to those songs, and watching the
fantastic shapes of the great trees like to black giants stalking
through the night, I suddenly fell asleep.