The waves at Langelinie rose that night.
The broken fish-girl’s tears spilled with spite.
If her grey rock was lonely in the past,
This solitude did come by deaf’ning blast.
But reader, from your cosy nook, I trust
You’ll guard your heart to hear this tale of lust.
I must warn that our girl knew little pain
Than that which would befall when morning came.
Amid the faces, there was one on whom she dwelt
Unshaken. There he was, oh! He had come!
He glimmered in the morning light, yet so
Did that fair maiden, clasped as belle and beau.
That fervent glee our golden fish-girl felt
Was dashed too soon, o’er rocks so dark and dumb.