On This Cold Flinty Rock.

On this cold flinty rock I will lay down my head,
And cheerfully sing through the night;
The moon shall smile sweetly upon my cold bed,
And the stars shall shine forth to give light,
Then come to me, come to me; wail not nor weep;
O turn thy sweet eyes unto me;
To my bosom now creep — I will sing thee to sleep,
And kiss from thy lips the salt tear.
This innocent flower, which these rude cliffs unfold,
Is thou, love, the joy of this earth;
But the rock that it springs from, so flinty and cold,
Is thy father that gave thee thy birth.
Then come to me, &c.

The dews that now hang on the cheek of the eve.
And the winds that so mournfully cry,
Are the sighs and the tears of the youth thou must leave,
To lie down in those deserts to die.
Then come to me, &c.