'Farewell, farewell! and Heaven grant, You never may the shelter want, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, For lo, when through the vapours dank A corpse, amid the alders rank, A Palmer welter'd there. Sir W. Scott XXXIV THE FORSAKEN MERMAN OME, dear children, let us away; COMEB Down and away below. Now my brothers call from the bay; Now the great winds shorewards blow; This way, this way. Call her once before you go. Call once yet, In a voice that she will know: 'Margaret! Margaret!' Children's voices should be dear Surely she will come again. 'Mother dear, we cannot stay.' Come, dear children, come away down. One last look at the white-walled town, And the little gray church on the windy shore, She will not come though you call all day. Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay? Through the surf and through the swell, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, was it yesterday On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, sea, She said, 'I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. caves. She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay, Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, were we long alone? 'The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers,' I said, 'in the world they say.' 'Come,' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach in the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town, Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, To the little gray church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes, She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear; For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book. 'Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.' Come away, Come away, come down, call no more. Down, down, down, Down to the depths of the sea. Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: 'O joy, O joy, From the humming street, and the child with its toy, From the priest and the bell, and the holy well, From the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun.' And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the shuttle falls from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window and looks at the sand; And her eyes are set in a stare ; A long, long sigh, For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, And the gleam of her golden hair. Come away, away, children, She will start from her slumber A pavement of pearl. Singing, 'Here came a mortal, But faithless was she, The kings of the sea.' But, children, at midnight, We will gaze from the sand-hills, At the white sleeping town; |