Under the cliffs of Bimble Bay
Is a little cave of stone
With wet walls of shining grey;
And on the floor a bone,
A white bone that is gnawed quite clean
With sharp white teeth.
But inside nobody can be seen —
He lives far underneath,
Under the floor, down a long hole
Where the sea gurgles and sighs.
Glip is his name, as blind as mole
In his two round eyes
While daylight lasts; but when night falls
With pale gleam they shine
Like green jelly, and out he crawls
All long and wet with slime
He slinks through weeds at highwater mark
To where the mermaid sings,
The wicked mermaid singing in the dark
And threading golden rings
On wet hair; for many ships
She draws to the rock to die.
And Glip listens, and quietly slips
And lies in shadow by.
It is there that Glip steals his bones.
He is slimy little thing
Sneaking and crawling under fishy stones,
And slinking home to sing
A gurgling song in his damp hole;
But after the last light
There are darker and wickeder things that prowl
On Bimble rocks at night.