And move his pity?—yes, in truth, THE MERMAID OF MARGATE "Alas! what perils do environ That man who meddles with a siren !"-Hudibras. ON Margate beach, where the sick one roams, And the sentimental reads; Where the maiden flirts, and the widow comes Where urchins wander to pick up shells, There's a maiden sits by the ocean brim, But woe, deep water and woe to him, Her head is crowned with pretty sea-wares, And all day long she combeth them well, And her mouth is just like a rose-lipped shell, And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be Hath planted his seat by her side; "Good even, fair maid! Is thy lover at sea, To make thee so watch the tide ?" She turned about with her pearly brows, And then she gave him a siren kiss, No honeycomb e'er was sweeter ; Poor wretch! how little he dreamt for this And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, Not walking, as damsels do, With toe and heel, as she ought to have stept, But she hopped like a Kangaroo; One plunge, and then the victim was blind, One half on the sand, and half in the sea, For when he looked where her feet should be, But a scaly tail, of a dolphin's growth, "You crimpt my father, who was a skate,— For lost you are, and betrayed!" And away she went, with a sea-gull's scream, In a moment he lost the silvery gleam The sun went down with a blood-red flame, And the tumbling billows like leap-frog came, Ah me! it had been a beautiful scene, But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him And Christians love in the turf to lie, And whilst he stood, the watery strife And the ground decreased,—his moments of life And still the waters foamed in, like ale, He knew that Goodwin and Co. must fail, A little more, and a little more, The surges came tumbling in, He sang the evening hymn twice o'er, Each flounder and plaice lay cold at his heart, As cold as his marble slab; And he thought he felt, in every part, The pincers of scalded crab. The squealing lobsters that he had boiled, All the horny prawns he had ever spoiled, And the billows were wandering to and fro, And the glorious sun was sunk, And Day, getting black in the face, as though Of the nightshade she had drunk! Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift, It might have given his spirits a lift But there was not a box or a beam afloat, At last, his lingering hopes to buoy, And called "Ahoy!"--but it was not a hoy, And with saucy wing that flapped in his face, The wild bird about him flew, With a shrilly scream, that twitted his case, "Why, thou art a sea-gull too!" And lo! the tide was over his feet; He was deafened amidst the mountain tops, But just as his body was all afloat, And the surges above him broke, He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat Of Deal (but builded of oak). |