The meeting
M. Shaw
All under the lime-trees the music sounds,
And lads and lasses dance there, too;
A couple are dancing whom no one knows,
They are tall, and of noble air, too.
To and fro in a weirdlike way,
They glide and meander slowly;
They smile to each other, they wave their heads,
The lady whispers lowly:
"My fine young fellow, in your cap
A water-pink is twined, sir;
It only grows at the roots of the sea,--
You come not of Adam's kind, sir.
"You are a Merman; to beguile
These village beauties you wish, eh?
I knew you at the very first glance
By your teeth so sharp and fishy."
To and fro, in a weirdlike way,
They glide and meander slowly;
They smile to each other, they wave their heads,
The young man whispers lowly:
"My pretty maiden, tell me why
As cold as ice your hand is?
Ay, tell me why your white robe's hem
As moist as the wet sea-sand is?
"I knew you at the very first,
By your curtsey all so tricksy; --
No mortal child of earth are you,
You are my cousin, the Nixie."
The fiddles are silent, the dance is done,
They part with a courtly greeting;
They know each other, alas! too well,
So shun any future meeting.