On a red-gold throne in the heart of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear

green sea;

She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. "Twill be Easter time in the world — ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee."

I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the

waves;

Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind

sea caves!"

She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.

Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones

moan;

Long prayers," I said, "in the world they

say;

Come!" I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.

We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea stocks bloom, to the whitewall'd town;

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still,

To the little gray church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,

But we stood without in the cold blowing

airs.

We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,

And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.

66

She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
Margaret, hist! come quick, we are
here!

Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone;
The sea grows stormy, the little ones
29
moan.

But, ah, she gave me never a look,

For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book! Loud prays the priest; shut stands the

door.

Come away, children, call no more!
Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down!

Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming town,

Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy!

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy

well;

For the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun!"

And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the spindle drops from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the

sand,

And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,

And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh;

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden

And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children;
Come, children, come down!
The hoarse wind blows coldly;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us

The waves roar and whirl,

A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.

Singing:

Here came a mortal,

But faithless was she!

And alone dwell forever

The kings of the sea."

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow,
When clear falls the moonlight,

When spring tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom,
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanch'd sands a gloom;
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie,
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.

We will gaze, from the sand hills,
At the white, sleeping town;

At the church on the hillside

And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, But cruel is she!

She left lonely forever

The kings of the sea.'

NAPOLEON

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

IF

you look out of your window in a clear dawn on the French Riviera, you may, if you are fortunate, see, far away to the south, a faint mountain range hanging on the sea, and if you do see it, it is a sight so beauti