I sat upon a promontory,
	And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin’s back,
	Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
	That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
	And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
	To hear the sea-maid’s music.

Shakespeare.    

	Slow sail’d the weary mariners and saw,
	Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,
	Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
	To little harps of gold; and while they mused
	Whispering to each other half in fear,
	Shrill music reach’d them an the middle sea.

Tennyson.    

	Who would be
	A mermaid fair,
	Singing alone,
	Combing her hair
	Under the sea,
	In a golden curl
	With a comb of pearl,
	On a throne?
	I would be a mermaid fair;
	I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
	With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
	And still as I comb I would sing and say,
	“Who is it loves me? who loves not me?”

Tennyson.