PART THE FIFTH. CCLVIII THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. Come, dear children, let us away; Now my brothers call from the bay; This way, this way. Call her once before you go. Call once yet, In a voice that she will know: 6 '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. 'Mother dear, we cannot stay.' The wild white horses foam and fret. Margaret! Margaret! Come, dear children, come away down. Call no more. One last look at the white-walled town, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 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, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; When did music come this way? 30% 35 40 45 Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, 50 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 the far-off bell. 54 And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.' 60 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 65 Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled towr. Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 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, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. 6 Dear heart,' I said, we are long alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.' 76 80 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.' 85 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, For the humming street, and the child with its toy, 90 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well, For the wheel where I spun, And the blessèd light of the sun.' And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, 95 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; From a sorrow-clouded eye, 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 ceiling of amber, 100 105 ΠΙΟ 115 120 Up the still, glistening beaches, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea.' Matthew Arnold. CCLIX THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. A CHILD'S STORY. Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity. Rats ! 140 5 ΙΟ They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 15 Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, 20 |