When fair Aurora cries "Awake!"
Ay, dainty zephyr, fan the sea
And bid yon schooner dance with glee;
Yon schooner dance with glee, to breast
The billows in their vague unrest.
Come, O spirit of the breeze,
I hear a whisper in the trees;
A whisper in the trees, and now
I feel fair fingers on my brow.
The harp to sweeter pitch is strung,