Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear:
Children's voices wild with pain.

Surely she will come again.
Call her once, and come away.
This way, this way.

'Mother dear, we cannot stay.'
The wild white horses foam and fret,
Margaret! Margaret!

Come dear children, come away down.
Call no more.

One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little grey church on the windy shore,
Then come down.

She will not come though you call all day.
Come away, come away.

Children dear, was it yesterday

We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,

Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts rang'd all round
Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world forever and aye?

When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sat with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea.
And the youngest sat on her knee.

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of the far-off bell,
She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea,
She said, 'I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore to-day.
'Twill be Easter-time in the world-ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.'
I said: 'Go up, dear heart, through the waves:
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves."
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay,
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone? 'The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers,' I said, 'in the world they say.' 'Come,' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay.

We went up the beach in the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled

town,

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was

still

To the little grey church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at the

prayers,

But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

We climb'd on the graves on the stones worn with rains,

And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded

panes.

She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear;
'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart,' I said, 'we are here alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.'
But, ah, she gave me never a look,

For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.

'Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.' Come away, children, call no more,

Come

away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea,

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: O joy, O joy,

From the humming street, and the child with its toy,
From the priest and the bell, and the holy well,
From the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun.'
And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the shuttle falls from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window and looks at the sand;

And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow laden,
A long, long sigh,

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children,
Come children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.

We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.

Singing, 'Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she,

And alone dwell forever
The kings of the sea.'

But children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow,
When clear falls the moonlight,
When spring-tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanch'd sands a gloom :
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.

We will gaze from the sand-hills,
At the white sleeping town;

At the church on the hill-side-
And then come back, down.

Singing, 'There dwells a loved one,
But cruel is she:

She left lonely forever

The kings of the sea.'

M. Arnold

XXXV

THE SANDS O' DEE

I

'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands o' Dee!?

The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she.

2

The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

The blinding mist came down and hid the land

And never home came she.

3

Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair ?—

A tress o' golden hair,

O' drowned maiden's hair,

Above the nets at sea.

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

Among the stakes on Dee.