strokes brought him close To the woman, who lay like a wilted white rose On the waves.  "Now, be careful," he cried; "lay your hand Well up on my shoulder; my arms, understand, Must be free; do not touch them—-please follow my wishes, Unless you are anxious to fatten the fishes." The woman obeyed him.  "You need not fear me," She replied, "I am wholly at home in the sea. I knew all the arts of the swimmer, I thought, But confess I was frightened when suddenly caught With a cramp in my knee at this distance from shore." With slow even breast strokes the strong swimmer bore His fair burden landward. She lay on the billows As lightly as if she were resting on pillows Of down. She relinquished herself to the sea And the man, and was saved; though God knows both can be False and fickle enough; yet resistance or strife, On occasions like this, means the forfeit of life. The throng of the bathers had scattered before Roger carried his burden safe into the shore And saw her emerge from the water, a place Where most women lose every vestige of grace Or of charm. But this mermaid seemed fairer than when She had challenged the glances of women and men As she went to her bath. Now her clinging silk suit Revealed every line, from the throat to the foot, Of her beautiful form. Her arms, in their splendor, Gleamed white like wet marble. The round waist was slender, And yet not too small.  From the twin perfect crests And the virginlike grace of her beautiful breasts To the exquisite limbs and the curve of her thigh, And the arch of her proud little instep, the eye Drank in beauty. Her face was not beautiful; yet The gaze lingered on it, for Eros had set His seal on her features. The mouth full and weak, The blue shadow drooping from eyelid to cheek Like a stain of crushed grapes, and the pale, ardent skin, All spoke of volcanic emotions within. 

 By her tip tilted nose and low brow, it was plain To read how her impulses ruled o'er her brain. She had given the chief role of life to her heart, And her intellect played but a small minor part. Her eyes were the color the sunlight reveals When it pierces the soft, furry coat of young seals. The thickly fringed lids seemed unwilling to rise, But drooped, half concealing them; wonderful eyes, Full of secrets and bodings of sorrow. As coarse And as thick as the mane of a finely groomed horse Was her bright mass of hair. The sea, with rough hands, Had made free with the braids, and unloosened the strands Till they hung in great clusters of curls to her knees. Her voice, when she spoke, held the breadth and the breeze Of the West in its tones; and the use of the R Made the listener certain her home had been far From New England. Long after she vanished from view The 

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