In summer, on the headlands, The Baltic Sea along, Sits Neckan with his harp of gold, And sings his plaintive song.
Green rolls beneath the headlands, Green rolls the Baltic Sea; And there, below the Neckan's feet, His wife and children be.
He sings not of the ocean, Its shells and roses pale; Of earth, of earth the Neckan sings, He hath no other tale.
He sits upon the headlands, And sings a mournful stave Of all he saw and felt on earth Far from the kind sea-wave.
Sings how, a knight, he wander'd By castle, field, and town — But earthly knights have harder hearts Than the sea-children own.
Sings of his earthly bridal — Priest, knights, and ladies gay. “— And who art thou,” the priest began, “Sir Knight, who wedd'st to-day?” —
“— I am no knight,” he answered; “From the sea-waves I come.” — The knights drew sword, the ladies scream'd, The surpliced priest stood dumb.
He sings how from the chapel He vanish'd with his bride, And bore her down to the sea-halls, Beneath the salt sea-tide.
He sings how she sits weeping ‘ Mid shells that round her lie. “— False Neckan shares my bed,” she weeps; “No Christian mate have I.” —
He sings how through the billows He rose to earth again, And sought a priest to sign the cross, That Neckan Heaven might gain.
He sings how, on an evening, Beneath the birch-trees cool, He sate and play'd his harp of gold, Beside the river-pool.
Beside the pool sate Neckan — Tears fill'd his mild blue eye. On his white mule, across the bridge, A cassock'd priest rode by.
“— Why sitt'st thou there, O Neckan, And play'st thy harp of gold? Sooner shall this my staff bear leaves, Than thou shalt Heaven behold.” —
But, lo, the staff, it budded! It green'd, it branch'd, it waved. “— O ruth of God,” the priest cried out, “This lost sea-creature saved!”
The cassock'd priest rode onwards, And vanished with his mule; But Neckan in the twilight grey Wept by the river-pool.
He wept: “The earth hath kindness, The sea, the starry poles; Earth, sea, and sky, and God above — But, ah, not human souls!”
In summer, on the headlands, The Baltic Sea along, Sits Neckan with his harp of gold, And sings this plaintive song.
Cookies on Poetry Cove