14 He would proclaim it far and wide, That they, who thus had wronged the dame, And if they dare deny the same, My herald shall appoint a week, He spake: his eye in lightning rolls! For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and he kenned Samuel Taylor Coleridge THE FORSAKEN MERMAN OME, dear children, let us away, C Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow, Now the wild white horses play, 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 (Call once more!) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain Surely she will come again! Call her once and come away; This way, this way! "Mother dear, we cannot stay; The wild white horses foam and fret." Come, dear children, come away down; One last look at the white-walled town, And the little gray church on the windy shore; Then come down! She will not come though you call all day: Come away, come away! Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once!) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea; She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." 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, by 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 climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book! Down, down, down! Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy! For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun!" And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops 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; Come, children, come down! Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A pavement of pearl. Singing: "Here came a mortal, But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea." But, children, at midnight, We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hillside: And then come back down, Singing: "There dwells a loved one, She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea." Matthew Arnold |