The moon amid the pale night shone,
The waves around so gently rolled;
A mermaid rose on Sinclair's sight,
And thus prophetic evil told:—
"Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish man,
Or it will surely cost thy life;
For if thou com'st to Norway's strand,
Thou never more shalt join the strife."
"Thy songs are lies, thou witch most foul;
Thou ever sing'st the self-same tune.