University of Virginia Library

THE WATER-WITCH AND THE PILGRIM.

There is a tradition of Correggio, which some Italian poet has wrought into a play, that contains the following singular fancy for its plot. Penniless, he had hurried from his home to the mansion of a rich man with a picture which had been ordered, urging him for immediate compensation. The rich man pompously paid the amount all in coppers, but Correggio, exulting in the good fortune of getting all his pay, accepted the

indignity without particular notice, and hastened away with the relief so anxiously sought for. When near his destination, overpowered with fatigue and thirst from the weight of his treasure and the terrible heat of the day, he came to a beautiful pond of water with a natural fountain springing from the side of a brook. The cool, clear, bright waters invited him to partake of the refreshing treasure. He eagerly drank from it, and while he drank, mysterious music came over his ear as from a fairy spirit in the water. For a moment he was fluttered and thought it a warning or a prophecy, but with a light heart he passed on to his home, and the song of the fountain was soon forgotten in his rapture at the bright face and the warm welcome his charming little wife gave on his return. Yet scarcely had he caught her sweet smile when the poison of the icy draught darted through him, and in an instant he remembered the mystic song of the waters, and, as he flung the sack of money before his adored wife, he expired. The following is the substance of the song of which the Italian poet has given the idea.

A water-nymph lurks in the cliff's hollow side,
And a pilgrim lies faint by the wild, whirling tide;
Where, 'midst rainbow and cloud, the lone waterfall springs,
And its curtain of foam o'er the haunted cave flings.
Hark! the lay
Of the Fay!
“Come hither, come hither, poor pilgrim to me;
From sorrow and sighing thy bosom I'll free;
And thou shalt a fairy's blest paramour be!
“Plunge, world-weary pilgrim! plunge deep in the wave!
Once mine, thou wilt smile as it storms o'er our cave;
For never false friend or sad heart-ache may come
Through the rush of white waters that curtain our home.
And away
Shall the spray
Wash mortality's clay from the care-canker'd soul;
Long dreams of delight o'er thy senses shall roll,
And new life wilt thou quaff from the fairy's charm'd bowl.”
He struggles to rise as he hears the fond strain,
But sinks on the flood's giddy margin again;
From her wave-curtained cavern the water-nymph trips,
And fatal the goblet she holds to his lips.
Quick the thrill
Of death's chill
Has run through his marrow and curdled his blood;
His faint shriek is echoed by cavern and wood,
And wildly he plunges beneath the dark flood.
His winding-sheet was a whirlpool's white spray,
And a bubble bore his last life-breath away;
Deep, deep lies the pilgrim beneath the cold stream,
And dimly his bones through the clear water gleam.
But at night
The false sprite
In pale moonshine oft glides from her damp-dropping hall,
The ghost of the wave-buried pilgrim to call;
And they dance, and they shriek o'er the wild waterfall!