Night’s sombre mantle is spreading over,
Ah, woe is me, these long tedious days;
Why dist thou leave me, my venturous lover?
Why did thou cross the raging seas?

Its melancholy here I’m lying,
Half broken-hearted, drechen dear;
Each blast I hear, love, for thee is sighing,
Each billow roaring a shed tear.

How can they say that all-perfect nature
Has nothing done or made in vain?
When that beneath the roaring water,
Does hideous rocks and cliffs remain.

No eyes these rocks or cliffs discover,
That lurks beneath the raging deep;
To mark the spot where lies the lover,
That leaves the maiden to sigh and weep.

The miser robb’d of his golden pleasure,
Views tempests great in his wild despair;
But what is all his loss of treasure,
To losing thee, my drechen dear?

O cease, O cease, thou cruel ocean!
And give my lover a peaceful rest;
For what thy storming and all thy motion,
Compared with that within my breast.

O could I now over the wild waves stooping,
The floating corpse of thee could spy;
Just like a lily in autumn drooping,
I’d bow my head, kiss thee, and die.