Song XXI., pp.270-271.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

‘TWas when the seas were roaring, 

With hollow blasts of wind, 

A damsel lay deploring, 

All on a rock reclin’d. 

Wide o’er the roaring billows, 

She cast a wishful look; 

Her head was crown’d with willows, 

That trembled o’er the brook. 


Twelve months were gone and over, 

And nine long tedious days; 

Why didst thou ventrous lover, 

Why didst thou trust the seas? 

Cease, cease then, cruel ocean, 

And let my lover rest: 

Ah what’s thy troubled motion, 

To that within my breast? 


The merchant robb’d of treasure, 

Views tempests in despair; 

But what’s the loss of treasure, 

To losing of my dear! 

Shou’d you some coast be laid on, 

Where gold and diamonds grow, 

You’d find a richer maiden, 

But none that loves you so. 


How can they say that nature 

Has nothing made in vain; 

Why then beneath the water 

Do hideous rocks remain? 

No eye these rocks discover, 

That lurk beneath the deep, 

To wreck the wandring lover, 

And leave the maid to weep. 


All melancholly lying, 

Thus wail’d she for her dear, 

Repay’d each blast with sighing, 

Each billow with a tear: 

When o’er the white waves stooping, 

His floating corps she spy’d; 

Then like a lilly drooping, 

She bow’d her head, and dy’d. 

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