A fairy once dwelt in a forest,
⁠And bathed in its silvery streams;
One day she was caught by the fishers,
⁠While morning was shedding its gleams.

The fishers all scattered, affrighted,
⁠But Marco, a fisherman young;
He kissed her, embraced, and caressed her,
⁠So vigorous, youthful, and strong.

The fairy entwined like a serpent,
⁠Seductively tender and mild,
And gazing upon him intently,
⁠She silently, silently smiled.

All day she embraced and caressed him,
⁠But—happiness ever is brief—
With nightfall the fairy had vanished
⁠And left him alone with his grief.

At daylight, at starlight he wanders,
⁠And seeks her, and withers, and craves,
"Oh, where is my fairy?"—"We know not,"
⁠Are laughing the treacherous waves.

"Be silent!" he cries to the wavelets.
⁠"Yourselves with my fairy you play!"
And into the waters deceitful
⁠He plunged, there to seek his sweet fay. . .

The fairy still dwells in the forest,
⁠Still beautiful, charming, and young . . .
But Marco is dead . . . Yet forever
⁠He'll live in the glory of Song.

While you, self-contented and dormant,
⁠Like worms you will crawl on your way;
No tale shall relate of your doings,
⁠No poet shall sing you a lay!

(Translated by Elbert Aidline.)