The water whispered, swelled, and flowed,
An angler sat embarked;
He gazed and gazed upon his rod,
And peace was in his heart:
But as he sits and listens there,
The rustling flow divides,
And from the river, wet and bare,
A woman upward glides.
She sang, she spoke: Why do you snare
With human tricks and lies
My finny brood into the glare
Of your hot deadly skies?
Ah, would you knew how fit a home
My fishes find their bed,
Then as you are, you’d yield and come
There, where you’re healed and fed.
Do not our own dear moon and sun
Bathe themselves in the sea?
—And having breathed the waves, return
With doubled brilliancy?
Does not deep heaven lure you in,
That wet transcending blue—
Your own reflected face within
Its clear eternal dew?
The water whispered, swelled, and flowed,
Drenched his bare foot with bliss;
His heart yearned with its heavy load,
As with a lover’s kiss.
She spoke, she sang, so cunningly,
It was the angler’s bane:
Half-drawn by her, half-sinking, he
Was never seen again.
1778