Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MERMAID by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL

First Line: THE WANING MOON LOOKED COLD AND PALE
Last Line: THOSE HEAVENLY STRAINS THE MERMAID SUNG.
Subject(s): MERMAIDS & MERMEN;
I.
THE waning moon looked cold and pale,
Just rising o'er the eastern wave,
And faintly moaned the evening gale,
That swept along the gloomy cave:
The waves that wildly rose and fell,
On all the rocks the white foam flung,
And like the distant funeral knell,
Within her grot the Mermaid sung.

II.
It was a strain of witchery
So sweet, yet mournful to my ear,
It lit the smile, it waked the sigh,
Then started pity's pearly tear;
There was a ruffle in my breast,
It was not joy, it was not pain,
'T was wild as yonder billow's crest,
That tosses o'er the heaving main.

III.
Along the wave the moon's cold light,
With trembling radiance feebly shone;
A luster neither faint nor bright
Sparkled on yonder watery stone:
There, seated on her sea-beat throne,
The Mermaid eyed the dashing wave,
Then waked her wild harp's melting tone,
And breathed the music of the grave.

IV.
Her silken tresses all unbound,
Played loosely on the evening gale,
She cast a mournful look around,
Then sweetly woke her wild harp's wail;
And, as her marble fingers flew
Along the chords, such music flowed --
Her cheek assumed a varied hue,
Where grief grew pale -- where pleasure glowed.

V.
The sound rose sweetly on the wind,
It was a strain of melancholy --
It soothed each tumult of the mind,
And hushed the wildest laugh of folly.
It flowed so softly o'er the main,
And spread so calmly, widely 'round;
The air seemed living with the strain,
And every zephyr breathed the sound.

VI.
The seal, that sported on the shore,
His gambols ceased, and pricked his ear;
He heeded not the billow's roar --
That strain was all he seemed to hear.
As through the surf the dolphins flew,
They stopped and played around her throne,
It seemed, Arion woke anew
His harp to some celestial tone.

VII.
With what a thrilling ecstasy
I heard the music of her lyre;
The very soul of melody
Seemed warbling on the trembling wire:
O! never o'er her infant dear
The mother half so fondly hung,
As when I bent my soul to hear
Those heavenly strains the Mermaid sung.




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