One night when the wind was wailing about,
And the sea was speckled wi' foam,
From room to room she went in and out
And she came on her carven comb.
She twisted her hair with eager hands,
She put in the comb with glee:
She's out and she's over the glittering sands,
And away to the moaning sea.
One cry came back from far away:
He woke, and was all alone.
Her night robe lay on the marble grey,
And the cold sea-maiden was gone.
Ever and aye frae first peep o' the moon,
Whan the wind blew aff o' the sea,
The desert shore still up and doon
Heavy at heart paced he.
But never more came the maidens to play
From the merry cold-hearted sea;
He heard their laughter far out and away,
But heavy at heart paced he.
I have modernized the ballad--indeed spoiled it altogether, for I have
made up this version from the memory of it--with only, I fear, just a
touch here and there of the original expression.
"That's what comes of taking what you have no right to," said Turkey,
in whom the practical had ever the upper hand of the imaginative.
As we walked home together I resumed the subject.
"I think you're too hard on the king's son," I said. "He couldn't help
falling in love with the mermaid."
"He had no business to steal her comb, and then run away with
herself," said Turkey.
"She was none the worse for it," said I.
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