Surely she will come again! "Mother dear, we cannot stay! The wild white lorses foam and fret." Come, dear children, come away down: One last look at the white-walled town, And the little grey 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, Round the world for ever and aye? 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 grey church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world-ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind seacaves!" 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, 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 grey 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, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. Come away, come down, call no more! 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 over the sand at the sea; 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! The hoarse wind blows colder; She will start from her slumber We shall see, while above us A pavement of pearl; Singing, "Here came a mortal, But faithless was she! But, children, at midnight, We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side, And then come back down, Singing, "There dwells a loved one, But cruel is she! She left lonely forever The kings of the sea." Matthew Arnold S THE BUGLES OF DREAMLAND WIFTLY the dews of the gloaming are falling: Faintly the bugles of Dreamland are calling. O hearken, my darling, the elf-flutes are blowing The shining-eyed folk from the hill-side are flowing, I' the moonshine the wild-apple blossoms are snowing, And louder and louder where the white dews are falling The far-away bugles of Dreamland are calling. O what are the bugles of Dreamland calling There where the dews of the gloaming are falling? Come away from the weary old world of tears, Come away, come away to where one never hears The slow weary drip of the slow weary years, But peace and deep rest till the white dews are falling And the blithe bugle-laughters through Dreamland are calling. Fiona Macleod |