Agnes and the Merman

Agnes she walked on the edge of the steep,
And up came a Merman out from the deep.
—Ha ha ha!
Up came a Merman out from the deep.

“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me,
And say if thou wilt my true-love be?”

“Yes, good sooth, that will I be
Wilt thou bear me down to the depths o’ the sea.”

Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth beside,
And borne her down all under the tide.

There she dwelt eight years and more,
Seven sons she to the Merman bore.

Agnes she sat by the cradle and sang,
And she heard how the bells of England rang.

She to the Merman did speak and say:
“May I go up in the kirk to pray?”

“Thou hast my leave to go withal,
But see thou come back to thy children small.

“When to the kirkyard thou dost fare,
Then see thou let not down thy shining golden hair.

“And when thou enterest in the door
Then sit by thy mother’s side no more.

“When the priest names the Name of dread,
Then bow not down thy head.”

Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth amain,
And so he bore her up to England’s shores again.

When thro’ the kirkyard she did fare,
Oh then did she let down her shining golden hair.

And when she entered in the door
She sat by her mother, as of yore.

When the priest named the Name of dread,
Then she bowed down her head.

“Agnes, my daughter, I ask of thee,
Where hast thou been eight years away from me?”

“I dwelt in the sea eight years and more,
Seven sons I to the Merman bore.”

“Now tell me, daughter, and fear no blame,
What did he give for thy maiden fame?”

“He gave me a ring of golden sheen,
Never a better one hath the Queen.

“Of golden shoon he gave me a pair,
Never a better the Queen might wear.

“He gave me a harp of gold to play
That I might touch its strings and wile my cares away.”

The Merman he made him a path so strait
Up from the strand to the kirkyard gate.

Into the kirk the Merman hied,
And all the holy images they turned their heads aside.

Like the purest gold was his shining hair,
His eyes were full of sorrow and care.

“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me;
All thy little children are longing after thee!”

“Let them long as they will, let their longing be sore,
I shall return to them nevermore!”

“Oh, think of the big ones and think of the small!
Of the baby in the cradle think thou most of all.”

“I think not of the big ones, I think not of the small,
Of the baby in the cradle I’ll think least of all!”
—Ha ha ha!
Of the baby in the cradle I’ll think least of all.