Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UNDINE: THE SONG OF THE UNDINES OR WATER-SPIRITS, by CHARLES WHITWORTH WYNNE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UNDINE: THE SONG OF THE UNDINES OR WATER-SPIRITS, by                    
First Line: We dwell in the depths of the opaline sea
Last Line: Are but for a day!
Alternate Author Name(s): Cayzer, Charles
Subject(s): Fish & Fishing; Rest; Seashore; Storms; Beach; Coast; Shore


I

WE dwell in the depths of the opaline sea;
Far older than man's must our lineage be—
Whilst the waters yet cover'd the face of the earth
The mermaidens sang of man's mystical birth.
Loo-a-lála, loo-a-lála, sing we low;
Wind and wavelet waft us idly, to and fro.
Men live on hereafter;
We must pass and go:
Therefore thro' our laughter
Wails the note of woe.

II

We dance on the edge of the low-rippling wave,
In the curl of its foam-crests our light limbs we lave;
We chase the white horses far over the main,
And shepherd them back to their pastures again.

III

We sleep in the dews till the Summer night closes,
To part the lush lids of the soft-petal'd roses;
But when the plumed sun shoots his arrowy beams,
We trip o'er the meadows to bask in the streams.

IV

We float past the cresses; we skim the wide meres—
Not swifter in flight the rath swallow appears—
We tumble o'er cataracts, yeasty in foam,
To the translucent floor of our crystalline home.

V

We glide down the glaciers and snows of the mountain,
To upbubble in mirth from the heart of a fountain;
We meet and commingle in fields of the air,
When the rain-clouds are lower'd and the thunderclaps blare.

VI

We sport in the breakers; we love the wild roar
Of ocean retreating far down the loud shore;
We plunge in the cascades of emerald spray
Which the prows of the fishermen cast in our way.

VII

And when the pale moonlight steals over the deep,
We dream of dead heroes long pillow'd in sleep:
Our spousals take place in that mystical hour,
When our hearts blossom forth like the rose in her bower.
Loo-a-lála, loo-a-lála, sing we low;
Wind and wavelet drift us idly, to and fro.
Men live on hereafter;
We must pass away:
Rippling tones and laughter
Are but for a day!





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