The Return Home, 9

The moon hath softly risen,
And o’er the waves doth smile;
Mine arms hold my sweetheart in prison,
Our hearts both swelling the while.

Blest in her sweet embraces
I calmly repose on the strand:
Hear’st thou aught in the wind as it races?
Why shrinks thy snow-white hand?

“O, ’tis not the tempest’s commotion,
“’Tis the song of the mermaids below;
“’Tis the voice of my sisters, whom Ocean
“Swallow’d up in its depths long ago.”