University of Virginia Library

Keep in shore by moonlight, ladies! Ocean's marge is spread with wiles,
Heed the Runic tale of Agnes, echoed from the Baltic Isles:
By the light that witches Fancy, roving in a moonlight mood,
She beheld a gallant merman rising from the tideless flood.
Down his neck and o'er his shoulders gleam'd his hair like threads of gold;
Bright his eyes; his comely features were a marvel to behold.
On his breast he wore sea-armour, scales that shone as burnish'd ore;
Shining through that shallow cover, love was burning evermore.
He began with notes prelusive, trying many an artful change;
Then his passion boldly chaunted, in a music sweet and strange.
“Listen, Agnes, I implore thee, listen, lovely as thou art;
I, an Ocean King, adore thee; pity thou a breaking heart.”
‘Weave the mermaid-dance without me; gentle Merman, I am wed;
Silver sands in spangled grottoes, foot of mine must never tread.’
“Lo,” he sang, and two small sandals floated to the pebbled beach,
Rarely wrought of golden tissue, ruby-gemm'd the ties of each!
“These bright sandals, rare in beauty as thy feet, I give to thee;
Never was an earthly princess bravely shod as thou wilt be.”
‘Mark my blessed amber-necklace; this my pious mother gave,
Ave Mary! should I leave her, grief would press her to the grave:’
“Lo,” he sang, and from his bosom drew a string of pearly beads!
“Take it, Agnes, never princess wore on neck such ocean-seeds.”
‘This gold circlet on my finger binds me to an earthly lot;
I have two and loving daughters; gentle Merman, tempt me not!’
“Lo,” he sang; and from his finger drew a wondrous jewell'd ring:
“Take it, Agnes, never princess gain'd the like from earthly king.
Take it, Agnes, beauteous Agnes, take it as my pledge of love;
Caves of ocean nurture passion deeper far than earth above.
Listen, Agnes, I implore thee, listen, lovely as thou art,
I, an Ocean-King, adore thee; pity thou a breaking heart.”
‘Bright-eyed Merman, I have listen'd; I am thine for weal or woe,
Thou hast conquer'd, bear me with thee to the dreamy halls below.’
Then he seal'd her ears and bade her close her lips, and through the waves
Hand in hand they plunged together, down to the mysterious caves.
Two years there, beneath the waters, Agnes dwelt from sorrow free;
Two fair sons she bore, and proudly nursed her princes of the sea.
One day, near their cradle seated, spinning at the crystal wheel,
Hark! she heard the bells of Holmgard booming forth a solemn peal.
Up she started from the cradle, left her wheel and elfin thread,
Instant sought her Triton-lover, and in tender accents said:
‘Let me go, my gentle Merman, ere the hour of midnight toll,
Back to Holmgard at the altar to petition for my soul!’
“Go,” he said “I will not stay thee; go, belovèd Agnes, go,
Back to these thy babes returning, ere the beams of morning glow.”
Then he seal'd her ears and bade her close her lips and dart away
Upward through the verdant waters, shoreward to the pebbled bay.
On she hasten'd; backward started, just as she had reach'd the church,
For she saw her pious mother standing in the temple-porch.
“Wherefore wouldst thou fly, my Agnes, why thy mother's love forsake;
Whither, whither hast thou wander'd, leaving earnest hearts to break?”

‘I have lived below the Ocean, underneath the coral tree;
I have wed the gallant Merman, father of my sons is he.
Leave me, mother, let me enter, leave me in the church to pray;
I must cleave the depths of ocean ere the coming break of day.’
“Hear me, Agnes, wait and listen; if thy mother's love be scorn'd,
For thy two deserted daughters, hear me, and at last be warn'd.
Day and night the wretched orphans wail and weep and waste away;
Grief will kill them, they will perish; calling on thee night and day.”
‘What should ail them? let their father keep his growing plants from harm,
Mine are ears that cannot hear them, guarded by a Merman charm!’
“If thy daughters are forgotten, whom thy purer bosom fed,
Yet, in pity for their father, be their solace,—he is dead.
Madden'd by thy flight he linger'd, raving for a faithless wife,
Rushing then amidst the billows quench'd the sacred light of life;
And the billows in compassion gave him to the shore again:
Christian burial not denied him, here he sleeps within the fane.”
‘Mother, be to them a mother; let me pass thee, I must pray!
I must cleave the depths of ocean ere the coming light of day.’
Now the iron tongue was knelling midnight with a clang profound,
And the unprevailing mother vanish'd with the closing sound!—
Agnes in the holy water dipp'd her finger, cross'd her brow,
Brow and finger were unmoisten'd, all things holy shunn'd her now.
She advanced, and every image, every type of holy things,
Saintly statues, pictured martyrs, cherub groups with painted wings,
Swam before her, glided from her, all at her approach recoiled.
Agnes sprang to touch the altar with a sudden terror wild:
But the very altar shunn'd her, fast and faster it retired;
Pyx and crucifix receded; one by one the lamps expired:
Save one silver lamp suspended o'er a newly graven tomb;
Thither Agnes flew despairing, goaded by a present doom;
By that lamp the name engraven on the marble's face she read,
'Twas her mother's!—at the portal she had communed with the dead!
One shrill cry she gave of horror, on the marble falling prone,
And the lamp went out and left her stretch'd on the sepulchral stone.

There were young and tender voices, wailing on the sadden'd shore;
Wailing for the fickle mother who must never see them more.
There were feeble infant voices, deep beneath the ocean swell,
Moaning for the hapless mother who had loved them but too well.