| There was a gentle angler who was angling in the sea
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| With heart as cold as only heart untaught of love can be
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| When suddenly the waters rushed and swelled and up there sprang
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| A humid maid of beauty’s mold, and thus to him she sang:
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| «Why dost thou strive so artfully to lure my brood away
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| And leave them to die beneath the sun’s all-scorching ray?
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| Couldst thou but tell how happy are the fish that swim below?
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| Thou wouldst with me taste of joy which earth can never know»
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| The water rushed, the water swelled, and touched his naked feet
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| And fancy whispered to his heart, it was a love pledge sweet
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| She sang another siren lie, more 'witching than before
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| Half-pulled, half-plunging down he sank, and ne’er was heard of more |