60 THE FRESH-WATER SIREN. 



Now, if you doubt the words I say, 

 As (woe is me !) perchance you may, 

 Then, gentle Sir, believe your eyes." 



As she uttered these words, sliding off from the bank, 



The ill-favoured thing like a crocodile sank ; 



And then in a trice, her form shrouded in light, 



In a silvery mantle which dazzled the sight, 



Again she uplifted that sweet siren strain, 



So oft she had sung, and, of late, sung in vain : 



" My air-built bower come and see, 

 Come, stranger, come, and dwell with me ! " 



As she warbled, our Gallant's unused trepidation 

 Gave way to a species of queer fascination ; 

 One more dubious look on the water he cast, 

 One look on the sun that look was his last ! 

 Underneath the bright water, and 'neath the bright sun, 

 A most horrible deed on that day was done. 



PART THE THIRD. 



Fast as acorns in autumn fall into a pool, 



In the Siren's receiver dropp'd many a fool ; 



I wot, those that got in were ne'er known to get out. 



But by tongues in the air it was bruited about, 



That a beauteous enchantress who lived upon flesh, 



Was the fowler that caught these young birds in her mesh, 



Yet the beldame found out, (a fact proved in society,) 



That there's nothing so gainful as bad notoriety. 



Her decoy overflow'd, where she caught one before, 



Well I ween she would now lay hold of a score. 



