205

THE MERMAID.

ON Jura's heath how sweetly swell
The murmurs of the mountain bee!
How softly mourns the writhed shell,
Of Jura's shore, its parent sea!

But softer, floating o'er the deep,
The mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay,
That charmed the dancing waves to sleep,
Before the bark of Colonsay.

Aloft the purple pennons wave,

As parting gay from Crinan's shore, From Morven's wars the seamen brave Their gallant chieftain homeward bore.

In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail
Still blamed the lingering bark's delay;
For her he chid the flagging sail,
The lovely Maid of Colonsay.

And "raise," he cried, "the song of love,
The maiden sung with tearful smile,
When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove,
We left afar the lonely isle!-

"When on this ring of ruby red

Shall die," she said, "the crimson hue, Know that thy favourite fair is dead, Or proves to thee and love untrue."

Now, lightly poised, the rising oar
Disperses wide the foamy spray,
And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore,
Resounds the song of Colonsay.

Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrowy seas,

Before my love, sweet western gale!

"Where the wave is tinged with red,
And the russet sea-leaves grow,
Mariners with prudent dread,
Shun the shelving reefs below.

"As you pass through Jura's sound,
Bend your course by Scarba's shore,
Shun, O shun, the gulf profound,
Where Corrivreckin's surges roar!

"If, from that unbottomed deep,

With wrinkled form and wreathed train O'er the verge of Scarba's steep, The sea-snake heave his snowy mane,

"Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils,
Sea-green sisters of the main,
And, in the gulf where ocean boils,
The unwieldy wallowing monster chain.

"Softly blow, thou western breeze,
Softly rustle through the sail!
Soothe to rest the furrowed seas,
Before my love, sweet western gale!"

Thus, all to soothe the chieftain's woe,
Far from the maid he loved so dear,
The song arose so soft and slow,

He seemed her parting sigh to hear.

The lonely deck he paces o'er,
Impatient for the rising day,

And still from Crinan's moonlight shore,
He turns his eyes to Colonsay.

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green:

While forward still the rowers urge

Their course, a female form was seen.

That sea-maid's form of pearly light,
Was whiter than the downy spray,
And round her bosom, heaving bright,
Her glossy yellow ringlets play.

Borne on a foamy-crested wave,

She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below.

Ah! long beside thy feignèd bier,

The monks the prayers of death shall say,
And long, for thee, the fruitless tear,
Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay!

But downwards, like a powerless corse,
The eddying waves the chieftain bear;
He only heard the moaning hoarse
Of waters, murmuring in his ear.

The murmurs sink by slow degrees;

No more the surges round him rave;
Lulled by the music of the seas,
He lies within a coral cave.

In dreamy mood reclines he long,
Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose;
Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song,
Far in the crystal cavern rose;

Soft as that harp's unseen control;

In morning dreams which lovers hear, Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul, But never reach the waking ear.

As sunbeams through the tepid air,

When clouds dissolve the dews unseen, Smile on the flowers that bloom more fair, And fields that glow with livelier green;

So melting soft the music fell;

It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray"Say, heardst thou not these wild notes swell?" "Ah! 't is the song of Colonsay."

Like one that from a fearful dream

Awakes, the morning light to view,

And joys to see the purple beam,
Yet fears to find the vision true,—

T

He heard that strain so wildly sweet,
Which bade his torpid languor fly;
He feared some spell had bound his feet,
And hardly dared his limbs to try.

"This yellow sand this sparry cave,
Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway;
Canst thou the maiden of the wave
Compare to her of Colonsay?"

Roused by that voice of silver sound,
From the paved floor he lightly sprung,
And glancing wild his eyes around,
Where the fair nymph her tresses wrung,

No form he saw of mortal mould;
It shone like ocean's snowy foam;
Her ringlets waved in living gold,
Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb.

Her pearly comb the siren took,

And careless bound her tresses wild;
Still o'er the mirror stole her look,
As on the wondering youth she smiled.

Like music from the greenwood tree,
Again she raised the melting lay;-
"Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me,
And leave the Maid of Colonsay?

"Fair is the crystal hall for me,

With rubies and with emeralds set; And sweet the music of the sea

Shall sing, when we for love are met.

"How sweet to dance with gliding feet Along the level tide so green; Responsive to the cadence sweet,

That breathes along the moonlight scene!

"And soft the music of the main

Rings from the motley tortoise-shell; While moonbeams, o'er the watery plain, Seem trembling in its fitful swell.

"How sweet, when billows heave their head, And shake their snowy crests on high, Serene in Ocean's sapphire-bed,

Beneath the tumbling surge to lie;

"To trace, with tranquil step, the deep,
Where pearly drops of frozen dew,
In concave shells, unconscious, sleep,
Or shine with lustre, silvery blue!

"Then shall the summer sun, from far,
Pour through the wave a softer ray;
While diamonds, in a bower of spar,
At eve shall shed a brighter day.

"Nor stormy wind, nor wintry gale,
That o'er the angry ocean sweep,
Shall e'er our coral groves assail,
Calm in the bosom of the deep.

"Through the green meads beneath the sea,
Enamoured, we shall fondly stray;
Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me,
And leave the Maid of Colonsay!"

"Though bright thy locks of glistering gold, Fair maiden of the foamy main!

Thy life-blood is the water cold,

While mine beats high in

every vein.

"If I beneath thy sparry cave, Should in thy snowy arms recline, Inconstant as the restless wave,

My heart would grow as cold as thine."

As cygnet down, proud swelled her breast,
Her eye confessed the pearly tear;
His hand she to her bosom press'd-
"Is there no heart for rapture here?

"These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea, Does no warm blood their currents fill:

No heart-pulse riot, wild and free,

To joy, to love's delirious thrill?”