The moon bad climb'd the higheſt hill
⁠That riſes o'er the ſource of Dee,
And from the eaſtern ſummit ſhed
⁠Her ſilver light on tower and tree,
When Mary laid hee down to ſleep—
⁠Her thoughts on Sandy, far at ſea,
Then ſoft and low a voice was heart,
⁠Saying, "Mary, weep no more for me."

She from her pillow gently rais'd
⁠Her head, to ask who.there might be,
And ſaw yourg Sandy ſhiv'ring, ſtand,
⁠With pallid cheek and hollow eye—
O Mary dear! cold is my clay,
⁠It lies beneath a ſtormy ſea;
Far, far from the I ſleep in death,
⁠So, Mary, weep no more for me!

Three ſtormy nights and ſtormy days—
⁠We toſs'd upon the raging 'mains
and long we trove our lark to ſave,
⁠But all our ſtriving was in vain:
Even then, when horror clill'd my blood,
⁠My heart was fill'd with love to thee;
The ſtorm is paſt, and I at reſt,
⁠So, Mary, weep no more for me

​"O madien dear! thyſelf prepare,
⁠We ſoon ſhall meet upon that ſhore
Where Love is free from doubt or care,
⁠And thou and I ſhall part no more."
Loud crow'd the cock, the ſhadow fled,
⁠No more of Sandy could ſhe ſee;
But ſoſt the paſſing ſpirit ſaid,
⁠"O Mary, weep no more for me!"