THE NECKAN.
In summer, on the headlands,
The Baltic Sea along,
Sits Neckan with his harp of gold,
And sings his plaintive song.
Green rolls, beneath the headlands,
Green rolls the Baltic Sea;
And there, below the Neckan's feet,
His wife and children be.
He sings not of the ocean,
Its shells and roses pale:
Of earth, of earth, the Neckan sings,
He hath no other tale.
He sits upon the headlands,
And sings a mournful stave
Of all he saw and felt on earth,
Far from the kind sea-wave.
Sings how, a knight, he wandered
By castle, field, and town;
But earthly knights have harder hearts
Than the sea-children own.
Sings of his earthly bridal,
Priest, knights, and ladies gay.
"And who art thou," the priest began,
"Sir Knight, who wedd'st to-day?"
"I am no knight," he answered;
"From the sea-waves I come."
The knights drew sword, the ladies screamed,
The surpliced priest stood dumb.
