Oh, Go Not Out

Oh, go not out upon the storm, Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool! A witch tho' she be dead may charm Thee and befool.

A wild night 'tis! her lover's moan, Down under ooze and salty weed, She'll make thee hear--and then her own! Till thou shall heed.

And it will suck upon thy heart-- The sorcery within her cry-- Till madness out of thee upstart, And rage to die.

For him she loved, she laughed to death! And as afloat his chill hand lay, "Ha, ha! to hell I sent his wraith!" Did she not say?

And from his finger strive to draw The ring that bound him to her spell?-- But on her closed his hand--she saw ... Oh, who can tell?

For tho' she strove--tho' she did wail, The dead hand held her cold and fast: The tide crawled in o'er rock and swale, To her at last!

Down in the pool where she was swept He holds her--Oh, go not a-near! For none has heard her cry but wept And died that year.