Songs of A Wayfarer By William Davies |
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| LXV. | LXV. THE SPECTRE MAID. |
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 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
LXV. THE SPECTRE MAID.
On wood and hill the bright moon shone,
And sparkled on the lake;
The rippling waves amongst the sedge,
Borne gently round the pebbly edge,
A softened roar did make.
And sparkled on the lake;
The rippling waves amongst the sedge,
Borne gently round the pebbly edge,
A softened roar did make.
A youth came down the mountain path,
And whistled o'er the water;
And soon he saw a little boat
Rowed by a maid in white: he thought
It was the ferryman's daughter.
And whistled o'er the water;
And soon he saw a little boat
Rowed by a maid in white: he thought
It was the ferryman's daughter.
But as she neared the shore he stood
As one in blank amaze,
For she was fair as angels seem
To ravished poets when they dream
Beneath Arcadian bays.
As one in blank amaze,
For she was fair as angels seem
To ravished poets when they dream
Beneath Arcadian bays.
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And scarcely knowing what he did,
He stept into the boat.
She took the oars, and then began
To sing as sweetly as a swan
That breathes his dying note.
He stept into the boat.
She took the oars, and then began
To sing as sweetly as a swan
That breathes his dying note.
The lake was rippled at the sound,
Thrilled to its inmost bay,
As round and round the music went
Until within the firmament
It seemed to die away.
Thrilled to its inmost bay,
As round and round the music went
Until within the firmament
It seemed to die away.
She laid the oars aside and came
To where he sat entranced,
And kissed his eyes and cheeks and lips,
Till, beating to his finger tips,
His pulses throbbed and danced.
To where he sat entranced,
And kissed his eyes and cheeks and lips,
Till, beating to his finger tips,
His pulses throbbed and danced.
And yet he felt her breath was cold;
Her cheeks were chill as fair:
The light that sparkled in her eyes
Gleamed like the moon on peaks of ice:
Cold as a wintry star.
Her cheeks were chill as fair:
The light that sparkled in her eyes
Gleamed like the moon on peaks of ice:
Cold as a wintry star.
Reclining on his breast she laid
The marvel of her brow.
He heard low voices whisper—heard
The crisping ripples lightly stirred
About the moving prow.
The marvel of her brow.
He heard low voices whisper—heard
The crisping ripples lightly stirred
About the moving prow.
Forebodings dire oppressed his heart:
The moon behind a hill
Sank suddenly: a shuddering blast
Came down: she clasped him firm and fast:
The boat began to fill.
The moon behind a hill
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Came down: she clasped him firm and fast:
The boat began to fill.
Ah! then he knew the Spectre Maid
Had grasped him in her toils.
In vain he struggles, writhes and cries:
The thunder booms, the lightning flies,
The water seethes and boils.
Had grasped him in her toils.
In vain he struggles, writhes and cries:
The thunder booms, the lightning flies,
The water seethes and boils.
The tempest down the mountain side
Rolls with an angry roar.
One moment and the boat is seen
Through tossing surf to reel and spin,
And then is seen no more.
Rolls with an angry roar.
One moment and the boat is seen
Through tossing surf to reel and spin,
And then is seen no more.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |