THE waters rush'd, the waters rose,A fisherman sat by, While on his line in calm reposeHe cast his patient eye.
And as he sat, and hearken'd there,The flood was cleft in twain, And, lo! a dripping mermaid fairSprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
"Why lurest thou my brood, With human wit and human guileFrom out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dartThe fish across the sea, Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,And truly happy be!
"Do not the sun and moon with graceTheir forms in ocean lave?
Shines not with twofold charms their face,When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,--The moist yet radiant blue,--
Not thine own form,--to tempt thy lot'Midst this eternal dew?"The waters rush'd, the waters rose,Wetting his naked feet;As if his true love's words were those,His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,His doom was fix'd, I ween;Half drew she him, and half sank he,And ne'er again was seen.
1779.*
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