Oh, Go Not Out

Oh, go not out upon the storm,
Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool!
A witch tho' she be dead may charm
Thee and befool.

A wild night 'tis! her lover's moan,
Down under ooze and salty weed,
She'll make thee hear--and then her own!
Till thou shall heed.

And it will suck upon thy heart--
The sorcery within her cry--
Till madness out of thee upstart,
And rage to die.

For him she loved, she laughed to death!
And as afloat his chill hand lay,
"Ha, ha! to hell I sent his wraith!"
Did she not say?

And from his finger strive to draw
The ring that bound him to her spell?--
But on her closed his hand--she saw ...
Oh, who can tell?

For tho' she strove--tho' she did wail,
The dead hand held her cold and fast:
The tide crawled in o'er rock and swale,
To her at last!

Down in the pool where she was swept
He holds her--Oh, go not a-near!
For none has heard her cry but wept
And died that year.