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Show THE CALL OF THE LORELEI. By Mabel Porter Pitts. When the lessening light in her crystal cave Speaks the time of the sunset's glow, Then the mermaiden comes on a curling wave From the cool of the depths below. In her eyes sleep the fire that is caught from the skies As they speak in the lightning's glare, And the dusk of the threatening storm-cloud lies, In the coil of her wind-blown hair. To the calm of a sheltering cove she drifts And the sleep of the cliffs is stirred By her call to the far-away sail that lifts Like the wings of a frightened bird. And it's woe to the ship if it swerves or starts, And it's woe to the soul that hears; For the mermaiden's couch is of grieving hearts, And her cave is of crystal tears. And the sweep of the reef where the seas upraise From the wrecks and the bleaching bones, Holds the passionate song of her fulsome praise For the work of its jagged cones. Town Talk. i |