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It is told in Swedish story,
'Mong the legends quaint and old,
How a priest and monk were passing
Where the river waters rolled,
And were hushed to silent wonder
As the music strange and sweet
That among the high rocks echoed
Yet seemed rising round their feet.

 

They beheld a merman floating
On the waters rippling bright,
And his long hair fell about him
Like a flood of golden light,
While his lute's sweet music sounded
All the rocks and hills among,
And afar a deep-toned answer
From the chapel bell was flung.

 

"Hush, for shame!" the prelate shouted--
"For such as you it is not meet
To give forth such luring music
To delay all passing feet,
For no more your sinful spirit
Can be saved from endless strife
Than this worn, dead staff I'm holding
Can renew its blooming life."

 

Then a wailing sounded wildly
From the merman left alone,
And a sadness seemed to echo
In the chapel bell's deep tone,
While the monks in fear and trembling,
Looked upon their angry chief,
For behold! the staff he walked with
Bursting into bud and leaf!

 

Awe and pain, and deep contrition
Crept into the prelate's heart,
As he thought how far and proudly
He had kept himself apart
From all lower, weaker classes;
Drooping low on bended knee
Prayed he with an humbled spirit--
"Teach me love and charity!"

 

Ne'er before that morning service
Sounded priestly words so sweet,
Never did the monks so meekly
Each devout response repeat;
While a faint, sweet music echoed
Up the chapel aisles and stairs,
Chiming softly with the chanting,
Mingling sweetly with the prayers!