The moon had climbed the highest hill,
Which rises over the source of day
And from the eastern summit shed,
Her silver light on town and hay
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea
When soft and low as voice she heard,
Saying, Mary, weep no more for me.
She from her pillow gently raised.
Her head, to ask who there might be
She saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With pallid cheek and hallow eye!
Oh! Mary, dear, cold is my clay,
It lies beneath the stormy sea
Far, far from thee I sleep in death,
So, Mary, weep no more for me.
Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We tossed upon the raging main
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain
Even then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee
The storm is past, and I am at rest,
So Mary, weep no more for me.
O maiden dear, thyself prepare,
We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more.
Loud crew the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see
But soft the passing spirit and said,
Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.