THE FRESH-WATER SIREN. 57 



He beheld 'neath its surface, in silver bedight, 



A most lovely Ladye. No gallant young Knight 



Could wish for a fairer in air and in mien, "j 



Tho' as to her face, not a feature was seen, 



'Twas so veiled in the blaze of her mantle's bright sheen. 



But the Knight he stood dubious, the streamlet was deep, 



He prudently looked, ere he ventured to leap ; 



But the Ladye, impatient, upraised neck and hand, 



To grasp hold of his, as he stood on the land. 



Then, ye powers of darkness ! the sight that he sees, 



Any mortal's warm blood was sufficient to freeze. 



The most blear-eyed of witches, the nightmare most foul, 



The most grim of hobgoblins, the loathsomest ghoule, 



Would have seemed as the fairest of Eve's lovely daughters, 



To the horrible thing half raised out of the waters. 



Its long hairy arms, so gaunt, rigid, arid thin, 



Were as dark and as dry as an old mummy's skin : 



Its eyes, glassy and fixed as a fish's when dead, 



Glared fiercely like fiery coals in its head, 



And like lamps were hung over its horrible jaw, 



The portcullis that led to its cavernous maw. 



The grim-looking spectre but rose as a flash 

 That blasted the vision, then sank with a splash ; 

 And, enwrapped in her mantle of magical light, 

 Once more seemed a fairy all beauteous and bright, 

 Save only the hand raised the water above, 

 Which still circled the wrist of the warrior's glove. 

 This wight (and a fortunate hap 'twas for him) 

 Was not framed like us mortals in body or limb ; 

 'Neath the back of his glittering corselet lay hid 

 (Like Jack-in-the-box crumpled under his lid,) 

 A pair of transparent and powerful wings, 

 Could be folded and opened by wonderful springs. 



