The Fisher

The waters rush'd — the waters rose —
The fisher sate thereby ;
He watch'd that stream in mute repose
Beneath the silent sky.
Was it a dream ? even as he gazed
Uproll'd the waters there,
And on their foamy breast was raised
A maiden strange and fair !

A low sweet song she sung to him :
" Why lure the glancing brood,
The dwellers in my native stream,
From their mute solitude ?
Knew'st thou how happy there they be
Where the deep waters swell,
Thou could'st not choose but share with me
The blue home where we dwell.

" Glides not the quiet moon to lave
Her brow by this calm shore ?
Thou see'st her rise from out yon wave
More lovely than before.
Gaze on these heavens of dreamy blue,
How soft their imaged beam !
Thine own form wears a calmer hue
In this our happy stream ! "

The waters rush'd— the waters rose —
Around his feet they swell ;
How cold and dull his bosom grows
Beneath the Naiad's spell !
A low sweet song she sang to him
Beside the haunted shore —
His gear lies scatter'd by the brim,
The fisher comes no more !