146 THE FRESH-WATER SIREN. 



"In an unpropitious hour, 



A jealous Fay of greater power, 



Enwrapped me in a magic spell ; 

 Hid beneath this streamlet deep, 

 Where water-elves their revels 'keep, 



For a space I'm doom'd to dwell. 



" Or if I rise to upper air, 



My proper form, so bright and fair, 



Assumes this strange and hateful guise ; 

 Now, if you doubt the words I say, 

 As (wo is me !) perchance you may, 



Then, gentle Sir, believe your eyes." 



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



The ill-favored 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, 



