  COLE YOUNG RICE. "Oh, mother, I lay A-dreaming one day By the wreck of the Alberdeen, And I heard a singing Under the sea Of children swinging— Their hair was green!— In seaweed swings, and they called to me— Oh, mother, they called to me"— "Hush, hush thee, my child! Thy prattle is wild, For the children that dwell in the sea Are the fishes swimming Amid white shells Whose pearly hymning But echoed to thee The strangled songs of the sinking swells— My child, 'twas the song of the swells." "And, mother," they said "Come to us!—oh, dread Not the waves tho' they fret and foam; They're far, far over Us while we play Beneath the cover Of our sea-home, All day, all day o'er the beds of the bay! Oh, mother, the beds of the bay!" "Hush, hush thee, my child!"— But strangely he smiled As he gazed at the weird-lit waves. For he heard a singing— "Come to us, come!" He saw them swinging In crystal caves, And cried, "I'm coming! I'm"—ah, how numb His death-dewy lips—how numb! |
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