She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.
She sigh’d, she look’d up through the clear green sea;
She said: “I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore to-day,
’Twill be Easter-time in the world—ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.”
I said, “Go up, dear heart, through the waves;
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves.”
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.