Poems (Davidson)/The Mermaid
THE MERMAID.
Maid of the briny wave and raven lock,Whose bed's the sea-weed, and whose throne's the rockTell me, what fate compels thee thus to rideO'er the tempestuous ocean's foaming tide?
Art thou some naiad, who, at Neptune's nod,Flies to obey the mandate of that god?Art thou the siren, who, when night draws on,Chantest thy farewell to the setting sun?
Or, leaning on thy wave-encircled rock,Twining with lily hand thy raven lock,Dost thou, in accents wild, proclaim the stormWhich soon shall wrap the unwary sailor's form?
Or dost thou round the wild Charybdis play,To warn the seaman from his dangerous way?Or, shrieking midst the tempest, chant the dirgeOf shipwrecked sailors, buried in the surge?
Tell me, mysterious being, what you are?So wild, so strange, so lonely, yet so fair!Tell me, O tell me, why you sit aloneAnd hush the roaring billows o'er my head.
1823.