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. This way, this way. "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-wall'd town, And the little grey 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? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday? 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 comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, In the little grey church on the shore to-day. And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee." Children dear, were we long alone? Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say. Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town. Through the narrow pav'd 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 climb'd on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains, And we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: 66 Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. Dear heart," I said, 66 we are long alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.' But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal'd 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, For the humming street, and the child with its toy. For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well. 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; And her eyes are set in a stare ; And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, 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. |