HE's lifeless amang the rude
billows,
My tears and my sighs are in vain;
The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,
Will ne'er beat for mortal again!
My lane now I am i' the warld,
And the daylight is grievous to me ;
The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearly,
Lies cauld in the deeps o' the sea!
Ye tempests sae boist'rously raging,
Rage on as ye list or be still
This heart ye sae often hae sicken'd,
Is nae mair the sport o' ye're will,
Now heartless, I hope not-I fear not-
High heaven hae pity on me!
My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,
Yet bends to thy awful decree!
