The Mermaids

There's a sketch you may discover By an artist of degree Rime and metre quarrel over-- Théophile Kniatowski.

On the snowy foam that fringes All the mantle of the brine, Radiant with the sunlight's tinges, Three mermaidens softly shine.

Like the drownèd lilies dancing Turn they, as the spiral wave Buoys their bodies hiding, glancing, As they sink and rise and lave.

In their golden hair for dowers They have twined with beauteous hands Shells for diadems, and flowers From the deep wild under sands.

Oysters pour a pearly hoarding Their enrapturing throats to gem, And the wave, its wealth according, Tosses other pearls to them.

Borne above the crest of ocean By a Triton hand and strong, Twine they, beautiful of motion, Under gleaming tresses long.

And the crystal water under, Down the blue the glories pale Of each lovely form of wonder, Tapered to a shimmering tail.

Ah! But who the scaly swimmers Would behold in modern day-- When a bust of ivory glimmers, Cool from kisses of the spray?

Look! Oh, mingled truth and fable! O'er the horizon steady plied, Comes a vessel proud and stable, Toward the mermaids terrified!

Tricoloured its flag is flaunted, And it vomits vapour red, And it beats the billows daunted, Till the nymphs dive low for dread.

Fearlessly they did beleaguer Triremes immemorial, And the dolphins arched and eager Waited for Arion's call.

This of old. But now the steamer-- Vulcan hurtling Venus' charms,-- Would destroy the siren gleamer, With her fair, nude tail and arms.

Farewell myth! The boat that passes Thinks to see on silver bar, Where the widening billow glasses, Porpoises that plunge afar.