Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, And I lose my poor soul. Merman, here with thee.' Say thy prayer and come back to the kind sea-caves.' Children dear, were we long alone? 'The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, We climb'd 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: Down, down, down; Down to the depths of the sea. She sits at her wheel in the humming town, 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 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, And the gleam of her golden hair. Come away, away, children. She will start from her slumber A pavement of pearl. Singing, 'Here came a mortal, But faithless was she: 699 And alane dwell for ever But, children, at midnight, We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the church on the hill-side— She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea.' THE SONG OF CALLICLES Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts, Thick breaks the red flame. All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. Not here, O Apollo! Are haunts meet for thee. But, where Helicon breaks down In cliff to the sea. Where the moon-silver'd inlets Send far their light voice Up the still vale of Thisbe, O speed, and rejoice! On the sward at the cliff-top, In the moonlight the shepherds, —What forms are these coming So white through the gloom? What garments out-glistening The gold-flower'd broom? What sweet-breathing Presence 'Tis Apollo comes leading They are lost in the hollows. They stream up again. What seeks on this mountain The glorified train?— They bathe on this mountain, Their endless abode. —Whose praise do they mention: Of what is it told?— What will be for ever. What was from of old. First hymn they the Father The Day in his hotness, 700 TO MARGUERITE Yes: in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown. We mortal millions live alone. But when the moon their hollows lights, The nightingales divinely sing; And lovely notes, from shore to shore, O then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent! Parts of a single continent. Now round us spreads the watery plain— Who order'd that their longing's fire Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd? 1 1 |