Soft in her arms did she fold me, While sweet and low she moaned; Her love and her grief she told me, And the ocean sighed and groaned.
But I stilled my heart's wild beating, For I knew her love was dim; Full coldly received her greeting, Tho' my life burnt in each limb.
In my ear right sweet she was sighing With the voice of the pink-veined shells; Her arms 'round my neck kept tying, And gazed in mine eyes' deep wells.
With her kisses cold did she woo me, But I dimmed my heart's wild beat; With the stars of her eyes did she sue me, But their passion did mine defeat.
With the cloud of her sea-dipped tresses She veiled her beautiful face;-- And oh! how I longed for her kisses And sighed for her soft embrace!
But out in the mist she went wailing When the dawn besilvered the night, With her robes of samite trailing In the foam-flowers sad and white.
Like a spirit grieved went moaning In a twilight over the sea, And it seemed the night was groaning, And my heart beat wild in me.
But I hushed my heart's fierce beating, For a Mermaid false was she; Yet I sighed at her faintly fleeting Across the dim, dark sea.
The moon all withered is glowing, The mist and she are gone; My heart to ice is growing, And I sob at the coming dawn.
The gods of Asaheim, incensed with Loke, A whirlwind yoked with thunder-footed steeds, And, carried thus, boomed o'er the booming seas, Far as the teeming wastes of Jotunheim, To punish Loke for all his wily crimes.
They found him sitting nigh a mountain-force, Which flashing roared from crags of ribbed snow, Lamenting strange and weird in rushing notes Of the old Strömkarl, who therein smote a harp And sang in mystic syllables of runes. For 'tis the wild man's harp and voice you hear: He sits behind the crackling cataract Within a grotto dim of mist and foam, His long, thin beard, white as the flying spray Flung to the midnight in a sounding cave By the blind fish that leap against the winds; Gemmed with the large dews of the cataract, Swings in the sucking breeze, and swinging beats Time to his harp's strains quav'ring soft and sad Beneath the talons of his pale, lean hand. And all the waters, leaping, tingling shake Like shivering stars within the frozen skies, When as the Giants of Frost rule o'er the deep, And nip their buds with fingers hoar of ice.