Dark and deep and calm as night Flows the stream along; Quiet in the evening light, As love’s fulness strong Flowing, flowing, flowing on Swift as sweet days come and gone, Low murmuring like Eternity, Softly step two children bright, Hearkening for the Water-Sprite, Nigh unto the alder-tree Where at evening singeth he As he doth sing to-night, Floating on the azure tide Fairer than an earthly bride. While the river flows along, Hearken to the spirit’s song: “Softly falls the summer Over all the land, Softly flows the river Past its mossy strand, Over-arched by wild-rose bowers, Clustered with the woodbine flowers Hanging down their fragrant tresses Over shady cool recesses, Where the water-lilies gleam Tranquil on the moving stream. Deep beneath, the spirits glide Who know not sorrow, hate, nor pride; Loving earth with its fair things, Mountain and valley and sunny lea, But most the rivers so pure and free, Sparkling fountains, secret springs, Dewy flowers in radiant bloom, Morning glories, midnight gloom, Loving all things pure and bright With unspeakable delight. Learning from the starry skies Everlasting mysteries.” Sudden ceased both lyre and song (Softly flowed the stream along), For thus spake those children young: “Oh, Neckan, what availeth thee To sing and play so gloriously In perfect exultation? What avail the starry skies, Or the splendour of thine eyes, Or the unsealed mysteries? For thee is no salvation!” Weeping sore the Spirit threw Far his golden-stringèd lyre, Piteous wailing, wild and shrill, Sank he in the waters blue; In a fairy-ring of fire Once they flashed and then were still. Homeward turned the children bright Through the meadows green and wide, Soon their father’s knee beside Told they of the Water-Sprite. Grave he heard them, answering then “Nay, my children, ye were wrong Thus to mar the Spirit’s song. Hasten to-morrow to the glen When the light is fair and dim That the sunset giveth, Tell the Spirit that for him, Him too the Saviour liveth.” On the morrow when the sun To the western gates had run, Forth there stepped those children bright Hearkening for the Water-Sprite. Soon they heard him wailing low In his sad extreme of woe, Underneath the alder-tree Weeping in his misery. Softly drew the children near, Softly spake: “Oh, Spirit, hear, Our sire this comfort giveth: God has sent His Son to be The World’s Redeemer, then for thee See! the Redeemer liveth!” Then the Spirit wept no more, Golden-stringèd lyre he strung, Soon melodious echoes rung From the farther, wooded shore. Gloriously he played and sung, Whilst the sun withdrew his light, Slowly rose behind the trees Orion and the Pleiades, And still went singing on the joyful Water Sprite.