Riddle of Death

The sea at night, the moonlight slips
gently over eyes and lips.
Beguiling smile, beckoning gaze,
the huntress by the ship-lane plays.

She sings of love, she sings of dreams,
pale moonlight on her bosom gleams.
Pearl-pale skin that has no flaws.
she plays her harp with poison'd claws.
Her voice is silk, her hair is gold,
her lips are warm, her thoughts are cold.

She baits with flesh, she hunts with lust,
the weak, the strong, the vile, the just.
Entranced, entrapt, in love, in rut,
to all but her his senses shut,
the sailor fey abandons ship
for a single deadly sip
from her cup of female charm,
thinking not of hidden harm.

Her slender arms about his waist,
from perfect lips a single taste.
The night-black sea her only gown;
Into the deep she pulls him down.

As water breaks him from his trance
the sailor treads a thrashing dance,
but though he fights with all his might
once tender arms now holds him tight.
In her eyes there shines the beast,
waiting to begin its feast.

Can you tell me who she is,
this huntress with the promised bliss?