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? Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep, When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday Once she sat with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea. And the youngest sat on her knee. She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of the 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. "T will 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 sea-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. rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes, She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear; 66 Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. Dear heart," I said, "we are here alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. "Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door." Come away, children, call no more, 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, 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 over the sand at the sea; A long, long sigh, For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, Come away, away, children, She will start from her slumber The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl,— And alone dwell forever The kings of the sea." But, children, at midnight, We will gaze from the sand-hills, At the white sleeping town; And then come back, down. For this holds true-too true, alas! Where azure pathways glisten; Though long he look and listen. Only the twilit woods among A wild-winged breeze hath sometimes flung Still further, fainter up the height, JANE BARLOW. |