A fine, wonderful night it was. The moon lay low above the sea, and all the flowing gold and flashing silver of the rippling running water seemed to be a flood going that way and falling into the shining hollow splendour.
Through the sea-weed the old Saint moved, weary and sad. When he came to a sandy place he stopped. There, on a rock, he saw a little child. Naked she was, though clad with soft white moonlight. In her hair were brown weeds of the sea, gleaming golden because of the glow. In her hands was a great shell, and at that shell was her mouth. And she was singing this song; passing sweet to hear, it was, with the sea-music that was in it:
A little lonely child am I
That have not any soul:
God made me but a homeless wave,
Without a goal.
A seal my father was, a seal
That once was man:
My mother loved him tho’ he was
’Neath mortal ban.
He took a wave and drownèd her,
She took a wave and lifted him:
And I was born where shadows are
I’ the sea-depths dim.
All through the sunny blue-sweet hours
I swim and glide in waters green;
Never by day the mournful shores
By me are seen.
But when the gloom is on the wave
A shell unto the shore I bring:
And then upon the rocks I sit
And plaintive sing.
O what is this wild song I sing,
With meanings strange and dim?
No soul am I, a wave am I,
And sing the Moon-Child’s hymn.
Softly Colum drew nigh.
“Peace,” he said. “Peace, little one. Ah, tender little heart, peace!”